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E-nteied according to act of Congress, in the year 1885, 
BY 
FANNIE CALDWELL GILBERT, 
in ^hc office Lf the Librarian of Congrtss at Waihinglon O.C 



NDEX. 



Twelve Full -Page Illustrations. 
Seven Full -Page Steel - Plates. 

Dedication. p^ce 

Sister Agatha, i 

The Chamber Accursed, 4 

The Lady Claire, (Illustrated,) ... 5 

A Bacchic Song, 6 

A Prayer, 7 

For Marie, 8 

Long Have I Sighed for Thee, 9 

I Cannot Sleep Without the Baby, 10 

To Lucille, , 12 

De Profundis, 13 

The Voices of the Flowers, ... 14 

Silent Sympathy, 16 

Areli, 17 

The Sultan and the Rose, 20 

War-Worn, 21 

Anathema Maranatha, 22 

Lelia Fair, 24 

Beer-Sheba, 25 

To Diana C, 29 

Lullaby, 30 

The Lover's Song, 32 

A Plea, ^^ 

Vashti, 34 

To Thee, 39 

Day, . 41 

Night 44 

Evening, 47 

To Isabel, 49 

Rachel, „ 51 



^ 

m. 



11 INDEX. 

PAGE 

Inamorata, 54 

superba fcemina, 56 

La Bayadere, 59 

Earth - Angels, 61 

The Bud, 63 

The Flower, 65 

The Fruit, 67 

Finis, 69 

To Gessie, (Illustrated,) ... 70 ■ 

lo Veneris! 73 

Ave Maria, 76 

Pace, 78 

Incognita, 80 

Via Sepulchri, 83 

To a Rose, (Illustrated,) ... 86 . 

The Song of the Oaks, 88 

NoN Est Parvum 92 

The Secret, 94 

Infelix, 95 

In Vino, 100 

Clytie, 102 

In Dreams, 104 

The Captive to His Bird, 106 

My King and I, 112 

The Tryst, 114 

To a Fly, 116 

Misanthropos, 118 

A Fancy, (Illustrated,) . . . lao-.; 

Mesalliance, 125 

Regret, 128 

Un Soupir, 130 

Blind, 132 

The Blind Girl, (Illustrated,) ... I37x| 

To a Dove, 139 

To Mentor — The Symbols, 142 

The Poet and Plutus, 143 

The Monk, 148 

To Clarisse, i53 

By the Sea, 156 



g^JV ■ ■ ■] ,. C>F^ 



7:^ 



INDEX. iii 

PAGl'. 

Short Sermons, 138 

To A Tigress, 150 

The Old Grey House, (Illustrated,) ... 164 

After the War, 167 

The Rivals, 17, 

To My Mentor, 172 

Seaworthy, 17^ 

To Joaquin Miller, 176 

A Last Desire, 181 

Cupid's Revenge, 182 

The Missing Jewels, 185 

The Lonely Grave, 186 

Don and Sancho, 1S8 

The Quakeress, 190 

Philomela, ic,2 

Smeton to Anne Boleyn, 194 

To the Lark, 1^7 

In My Lady's Garden 199 

Little Mabel (Illustrated,) ... 202 

The Dying Body to the Soul, 206 

The Departing Soul to the Body, ' 208 

The Spirit- Mother 211 

The Quiet Hour, * . . . 214 

On the Farm, (Illustrated,) . . . 217^/ 

If Thou Wert Mine, 223 

Under Sentence of Death, (Illustrated,) . . . 225./ 

Pallida Mors, 236 

To FiFiNE, My Pet Dog, 247 



To E. H. M. 



250 



To One in Aiden, 253 

In Articulo Mortis, 256 




dbdication:, 



TO MY MOTHtR. 

Like the ivild flowers that grow on my native heath, 

I have gathered these little blossoms for a wreath ; 

Oh! best-beloved, and long-lamented One — 

The love of the Muse, I owe to Thee, alone : 

Left fatherless so young to Thy sole care. 

Thy tender teachings did my mind prepare — 

And good seed sown on a fertile field. 

In time, a harvest of gladness will yield. 

Thy soul was big tvith true celestial fire — 

Thy angel-voice low chanted, to the didcet lyre ; 

With Song, Thou didst soothe my infant-slumbers. 

And following Thee, I lisped in softest numbers ; 

A Poet is bom, inspired from the womb — 

So, I lay this simple crown on my Mothers tomb ! 








SISTER AGATHA. 
Beati qui in Domino moriimtur 

!■/ hen wide in the glowing West, 
^The gorgeous gates unfold, 
To receive the sun to rest, 
On a regal couch of gold; 

When the convent bells are rung. 
To call the nuns to prayer, 
And the vesper hymn is sung. 
By voices sweet, and clear; 

Through the chancel-window red, 
The sunbeams streaming mild, 
With aureolas crown the head, 
Of the Mother- Maid and the Child. 



And, above the altar near, 
Wrapped in shades of coming night. 
They make the Cross appear, 
Bathed in a flood of licrht. 



SISTER AGATHA. 

Then, while the organ's tone, 
Fills all the charmed air, 
The black-robed nuns are gone, 
Save one, who lingers there : 

Pearl-pale is she — with brown hair and 

dark eyes ; 
A Grecian profile, and a red mouth made 

for mirth ; 
An Houri, fit to float the skies, 
Of the sweet sphere that gave her birth ! 

" Oh ! why this sinful thought ? 
And why this vain regret ? 
'Twas only peace I sought — 
My heart thoit shalt forget ! 

" My uncle swore an oath : 
' I saw thy Edward fall — 
He, and the young Prince, both, 
'Neath the leagued city's wall.' 

" Soon then he bade me wed 
His son — a stripling wild, 
(His little girl was dead — ) 
Harold, his only child. 

" * No ! wed your son, I never can — 
I said, ' could I be forgiven. 
If I broke vows made to man. 
But recorded too, in Heaven? ' 

" I left his dread ancestral halls — 
I could dwell no longer there ; 
I built these sacred cloister walls. 
On my broad lands so fair. 



■'^^ 



SISTER AGATHA. 

" We have been here content, I know, 
Happy as mortals e'er may be — 
A merrier band of nuns, I trow, 
No wanderer o'er earth can see. 

" By dawn of day, a letter I read, 
That my uncle sent to me : 
'He is alive, whom I called dead — 
Lord Edward's come home o'er the sea ! 

" Too late ! I cannot break my vow, 
(Vow registered in Heaven — ) 
Did I leave my Master's service, now, 
I should never be forgiven ! 

"Aye! here till life shall end. 
My years I will pass," she cried — 
" Life done, my soul shall here ascend. 
To reign with The Crucified ! " 

The Saints in the sculptured nooks, 
Clasp their marble hands, in prayer; 
When on Mary's face, she looks, 
A smile is resting there! 

Above the altar spotless fair, 
The holy moon-beams bright 
Make the blessed Crucifix appear 
In a gleam of silver light ! 

She hears — tho' no form can she see, 
(The tones from His Cross arise — ) 
" This day, Agatha, thou shalt be, 
With thy Lord, in Paradise." 




THE CHAMBER ACCURSED. 



^,here is a chamber accursed ; 
Upon its ghastly walls, 
Flit the most fantastic shadows, 
When the expiring night-lamp falls. 

There is a chamber accursed ; 
And from its depths arise. 
Groans like ^ the moans from the dyin^ 
Groans — and the saddest of sighs. 



There is a chamber accursed ; 
Once it was fair and gay — 
For there a young and happy girl, 
Whiled the careless hours away. 

There, in the chamber accursed, 
During the dark, dark night. 
Over the true — the trusting heart, 
There swept Sirocco's blight. 



Would God, in the chamber accursed. 
They had found her cold, and mute ! 
But, ah ! she discords utters now, 
Like, a long neglected lute ! 




,j/ey ^£aJyuy ^/a^^y. 



-^!>t^ 








i* «s^:;*^^■ 






THE LADY CLAIRE. 



ast night, at the ball of the Dutchess of Dee, 
^)l met the Lady Claire : 
And I swear'that of all, in that crowded hall, 
There was none, indeed so fair ! 



Yet, the roses she wore — the festal flowers — 
I knew wreathed a brow of care ; 
And satin-robed, her young heart throbbed, 
With pain, and hate, and fear ! 

For the jewels on her arms, and breast. 
She has paid a price too high : 
Her happiness ; youth ; and maiden truth — 
'Twere better, methinks, to die ! 

But, the gossips all say, of this fortunate pair, 
That : a brilliant match, they've made of it — 
Where the husband is old, and has plenty of 

gold, 
"The girl's lucky," is all that is said of it! 

Ten chances to one, before the year's out 
The old man will do something rash ; 
And the young wife turned loose, will go to 

the deuce, 
With that Count— and his long black 

moustache ! 

S 




A BACCHIC SONG. 



CTf 



imll up, fill up, the sparkling cup, 

With rare — with rich — with blood-red wine 
From vineyard fat, from flowing vat, 
We'll drink the juice of the vine ! 

Oh ! who need fear — or know, a care, 
While gold, and youth, and beauty last ? 
So when we quaff, and when we laugh, 
Forsfet — forget the Past ! 



This draught of wine, so old and fine, 
Shall drown — shall deeply drown regret; 
Our eyes are bright, our hearts are light — 
We will be happy yet ! 

Fill all, fill all, your goblets tall— 
The revelry we will prolong ; 
And wassail deep, we'll keep — we'll keep, 
With wine, and wit, and song! 




ff»^s«^-* 



A PRAYER. 



^■'^ 



ood Angel — guardain Angel ! 
Bend low to hear my prayer — 
Oh ! Spirit blest, and holy, 
Take Marie to thy care ! 

Upon my tender flower 
The heavenly balm distil ; 
Let new life every hour, 
Her feeble pulses fill. 



Shield when the tempests beat, 
My lovely fragile flower : 
Protect from noon's fierce heat. 
And from the mildew's power 

Nourish with softest dews ; 
Fan by the Zephyr's breath ; 
And each sweet influence use, 
To save my flower from death. 

Ah ! kindly keep my flower, 
With a fond mother's care ; 
Attend, and watch each hour — 
Sweet Sprite, hear thou my prayer ! 




FOR MARIE. 



Ileep on Marie, and dream of me, 
' While I wake, and pray for thee, now ; 
May visions blest, sooth thee to rest, 
And the Angel of Peace kiss thy brow ! 

Sleep on, Marie, and dream of me. 
While I wake, and weep for thee, now ; 
May a fount of pure joy, with no earthly alloy. 
In thy young heart, unceasingly flow ! 

Sleep on Marie, and dream of me. 
While I wake, and yearn for thee, no w ; 
Where there is no night, and radiant in light. 
May we, twin-souls, before The Throne bow ! 

Sleep on Marie, and dream of me, 

While I wake, and pray for thee, now ; 

May visions of heaven, to charm thee, be given ; 

And the Angel of God kiss thy brow ! 



•»-^*;^ 




*^5«f-* 



¥, 



LONG HAVE I SIGHED FOR THEE. 

M 

"^If ong have I sighed for thee — 
ll. My beautiful ! My own ! 

Ever from infancy, 

My soul has lived alone. 

A plant blooming thus singly, 

I grew from natal hour ; 

And none thought what sweets might be. 

Shut in the heart of the flower ! 

Some gem of Art may be enshrined, 
In the cloisters dim and old; 
A marble casket may be lined 
Within by finest gold ! 

Down in the deep, blue sea, 
How far we cannot tell, 
What precious pearl may be. 
Close hidden in its shell ! 

Or, in what gloomy, unknown mines, 
Unseen of mortal eyes — 
The priceless ruby redly shines ; 
The purest diamond lies ! 

But, since I am beloved by Thee, 

My spirit blossoms into words ; 

This tuneful harp no more shall silent be — 

A skillful hand has swept its thrilling chords ! 




«^*?^- 



I CANNOT SLEEP WITHOUT THE BABY. 

cannot sleep without the baby ! 
Can a wretched mother bear, 
To kneel beside the vacant bed, 
When the Babe is gone, that was there ? 

I cannot sleep without the Baby ! 
How could I go to rest ; 
Unless dear little Harry's head, 
Was nestling on my breast ? 

I cannot sleep without the Baby ! 
This is the hardest part — 
Twill want the dainty hand that lay. 
Like a rose-leaf on my heart. 

I cannot sleep without the Baby ! 
In the watches of the night, 
I will listen for his balmy breath. 
That came so low and light. 



lO 



I CANNOT SLEEP WITHOUT THE BABY. 



II 



I cannot sleep without the baby ! 
At the dawning of the day, 
I will miss my dimpled darling, 
That always woke to play ! 

I cannot sleep without the baby! 
When the Summer sun shall rise, 
Ah ! pale would look the light of heaven, 
Not mirrored in his laughing eyes. 

I cannot sleep without the Baby ! 

I cannot lie in the dark alone, 

Since my one sweet joy of life is lost — 

From my empty arms is gone ! 



■••-j^f^ 



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^^^-£^ 




TO LUCILLE. 

'ill you leave me forever, darling ? 
w, Has the past no magic power ? 
Can you cast away a faithful love, 
Like a sweet, but faded flower ? 

Will you leave me forever, darling ? 
Will you walk in other ways, 
Forgetting the grace, and the music ; 
Of the dear departed days ? 

If you leave me forever, darling. 
Where could you hope to find, 
A warmer and as true a heart, 
Or, a more congenial mind ? 

Why leave me forever, darling ? 
Could fame — or wealth — or Art — 
Supply for the hungry soul. 
It's needs — and must we part ? 

Can you leave me forever, darling ? 
Could pride and a woman's will. 
Crush out the holiest feelings — 
Would you be happy, still ? 



12 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

|ray for me, Mother dear ! a new birth — 
By your knee, with tenderest caresses, 
I knelt, in childhood's clinging faith. 
And said, — with lips unsullied by the breath, 
Of hot passions and wild excesses, — 
The blessed words Christ spake, 
While His foot-prints hallowed the earth ; 
The prayer that thus begins. " Our Father," 
Nozv, — if I ever pray, rebellious I cry, rather, 
Only the ending of the other — good Mother! 
You taught it, too : " My soul to take — " 
Beloved, since that holy evening hour, 
The wicked world has rushed in. 
Upon the shaded, — the dim recesses. 
Of the young heart ; and Sin ; 
Ah ! all unknown then, 
All undreamt of, even — 
Has smote my Spirit, radiant Irom Heaven, 
And, like the frail lily-bells that shake, 
'Neath the rude tempest's power — 
Your child has bowed her helpless head. 
Thepretty white flower — little flower! 
You wore on your bosom fair. 
Lies hurt by harm — but yet, not dead. 
Then, pray for me, sweet Saint, pray ! 
The Scripture truly saith : 
" The prayer of the righteous availeth" — aye- 
All things are possible with Faith. 



13 




THE VOICES OF THE FLOWERS. 



am a fair young Rose, 
And my cheek with vermeil glows. 
While faithful watch I keep, 
The nightingale will rest, 
Upon my velvet breast, 
And sing himself to sleep ! 
I am a fair, young Rose, 
And where the red wine flows, 
I crown white brows above ; 
I was born in the gardens of Gul, 
An emblem most beautiful, 
Of Silence— of Mirth— of Love ! 

I am a Lily, tall, and frail ; 
Over fields of clover-blooms, 
The drowsy brown bee comes. 
To hide in my humble heart. 
I am a Lily, tall, and frail, 
A gentle lady, rare, and pale — 
Alabaster-vase, with cup of gold, 
The delicate dews of night, I hold-^ 
Spotless, and stately — behold in me, 
The symbol of Faith, and Purity ! 

14 



^^t 



M 



THE VOICES OF THE FLOWERS. 

In the sacred bowers, 

Of Eastern flowers, 

Where youth, and beauty bloom ; 

The dark maidens twine, 

The white Jessamine, 

Mid their fragrant braids of hair. 

With a rich perfume ; 

With a star-Hke face ; 

And a tender grace — 

/ am the fairest of the fair ! 

I am only a wee, plain flower. 

Not fit for a Beauty's bower — 

In the sun I would fade. 

So, I dwell in the shade ; 

But, dear girl, do not forget : 

I am nourished in time of dearth, 

Because I grow so close to earth — 

My companions never refuse, 

To share with me the cooling dews 

For I'm fond, and true. 

Having eyes of deep blue — 

And my name : is Violet ! 



"-^t^it^ 





SILENT SYMPATHY. 

;S I sit in my study— alcove, 

I Alone, to read, and to muse, 
My eyes are raised, they rest above, 
On a female head, by Greuze. 

Whose are the perfect features. 
Whose is the matchless grace ? 
Is she one of those ideal creatures. 
That have no name, or place ? 

When I hold my child in my arms, 
And laugh at her guileless glee, 
Then, the picture is full of charms. 
And gaily smiles down on me. 

When my heart is torn by sorrow, 
Ah ! sadly she looks at me, 
Her face, from mine, seems to borrow, 
A speechless agony ! 

I only know of this other. 
The woman with soft, dark eyes. 
That she is, (like myself—) a Mother, 
With a love that never dies. 





^'(^♦tf^ 



i6 




3«vg5<^ 



ARELI. 

foft Spring had come again, 
And the world was full of bloom, 
But my life was bleak and barren, 
And my heart was dark with gloom. 

I slept, and in a dream, 

I stood before the Lord ! 

I dared not lift my eyes to him. 

But, Waited for His word. 

He saw — the angry fires, 
Of His eyes burned terribly, 
He spoke in tones of thunder : 
" What have I to do with thee? " 

He knew that I was guilty. 
He knew that much I loved,* 
And with a misery like mine. 
Even a God was moved ! 

" Thy fault was mortal frailty, 

For, verily thou art dust. 

Thy sins though scarlet, white shall be. 

Do thou repent and trust." 



* "Her sins, whicli are many, are forgiven, for she 
loved much."— St. LulvC, vii, 4". 

17 



ARELI, 

I kissed the hem of His garment, 
He said in accents mild, 
" Oh ! woman, be thou comforted, 
For thou shalt bear a child !" 

" I give a pure soul to thy care. 
Mold it for Eternity ! 
Whatever thou do to the little one. 
Thou dost it unto Me ! " 



Time passed, the babe had come,- 
Back to her native skies. 
While I, in agony bowed down, 
She smiled in Paradise. 



-had flown, 



Again — in visions of the night. 
As worn with grief I laid, 
Beside her empty cradle-bed. 
An Angel with me stayed. 

Far from the realms of love and light. 
This gentle Guest had sped, 
To mingle saintly tears with mine. 
That wept the early dead. 

His presence filled my dwelling, 
With radiance and perfume, 
As alabaster lamps, which myrrh 
And frankincense consume. 



His touch new power imparted. 
Leading me forth by hand, 
Said, " Follow Me!" and full of faith, 
I rose at His command. 



ARELI. 



19 



t- 



Star-ward we swiftly journeyed, 

We neared the portals fair, 

Eye hath not seen, nor mind conceived. 

The glories that are there. 

Singing of seraphs, sound of harps, 
I heard with bated breath. 
Music, that swells all perfect sweet, 
Where there is no more Death ! 

" Mortal behold," the good Guide said, 

and see 
Around My Father's throne, 
Blest and redeemed eternally, 
Of these millions, yours is one." 

" Mother of cherub bright ! to thee, 
Great honor there is given, 
Suffer little children to come unto Me, 
For of such is the king'dom of Heaven." 



^w^^S 



11 



*-;>S^I 









• • ^JTES'^I^S.Sf^ 







THE SULTAN AND THE ROSE. 

pn the Sultan's garden a flower was growing, 
■^ As red as his brave heart's blood ; 

When the sun was low, and spice-winds blowing, 
Said Selim, in pensive mood: 

" Ah ! Rose, thou art too fair for a flower. 
Whose charms will scarce outlive the hour — 
Thy spirit sweet, should dwell in the human ; 
Thy beauty bright, in a lovely v/oman ! " 

The flower quickly faded from sight — 

And Selim gave a cry of delight ; 

For, the lovliest woman he e'er had seen. 

Bloomed now, where the blushing Rose had been. 



Young SeHm clasped his bride to his breast. 
And with rapture, her pink lips, were prest — 
The brief summer night, in blissful hours, 
Flew swift away, with Love among flowers, 

But, sad and strange, at dawn of day. 
The beautiful Woman vanished away ; 
When the sorrowful Sultan raised his head, 
Lo ! the fair flower too — the Rose, was dead I 

20 



WAR-WORN. 



^^^^^f5r V>v 



y brow is burning — let me lie, 
%5/fe)- Deep in the quiet grave ; 

My heart is breaking — let me die, 
And peace, and comfort have ! 

" My feet are bleeding — let me rest. 
On the long march of Life ; 
My hands are weary — sleep is blest. 
After such bitter strife ! 

" My eyes are aching — sick of light 
Welcome the shades of even ; 
The dews of dark, delicious night — 
May the morning break in heaven ! 

" Brave comrades ! catch my latest breath, 
Receive my last fond word — 
See ! the pale Victor conquers — Death ! 
Ungird my armor — take my trusty sword ! 

They laid him low — in field, and tent. 
Deeply deplored, by all, his loss ; 
And longed they, to follow where he, went- 
Strong soldier of the Cross. 



21 




ANATHEMA MARANATHA.. 

ijes ! thou art well known now — 
J^iThou, idol of the Past ! 
^And all thy devious ways, 

Are understood, at last. 

I can read the dubious meaning 

Of thy dear, deceitful eyes ; 

I have proved the galling bitterness, 

Of those oft-told, sugared lies ; 

It is easy to decipher all. 

By the light experience affords; 

Interpreted by actions. 

Which louder speak than words ! 

When wealth — and youth — and beauty. 
Were wasted all, and gone, 
Thou didst depart — to leave me 
Sick — ^penniless — alone ! 



But, the worm will sting the heel. 
That treads her in the dust ! 
And woman's hand may guide the steel, 
That, gives the deadly thrust ! 



22 



ANATHEMA MARANTHA. 



23 



Oh ! God to meet thee once again — 

To gaze into thy face, 

Wearing its well-adjusted masque 

That fatal smiling grace ! 

With my loving turned to loathing ; 

And confidence changed to scorn ; 

Abhorrence for thy treachery — 

Deep disgust, of knowledge born — 

The soul that hates all evil, 

Would stamp on thy memory, 

A curse indelibly — 

Clear as the printing of a book — 

Thou false, incarnate devil ! 

By one, last, lingering look. 




LELIA FAIR. 



I^ih ! Lelia fair — thou spotless flower ! 

Didst thou but feel affection's power! 
But, colder than Siberian snows, 
Thy bosom sleeps in chill repose. 
Some happy hour — some blessed day, 
The blind, young god may come thy way; 
If he should chance to wound thy heart, 
Fly to my love — 'twill heal its smart ! 

Oh ! Listen to my lute's sad tone ; 
Nor, bid me from thy sight be gone. 
Ah ! Think how blest my fate might be : 
If thou wouldst deign to smile on me — 
In mercy, hear me, Lelia, fair ! 
Doom not my soul to dark despair — 
The world, a wilderness will be. 
If life must pass, unshared by thee ! 

Thee, have I loved from childhood's hour ; 
Yes — cruel one ! thou knowest thy power ; 
How canst thou calm, and silent be, 
Adored so long — so fervently ? 
Yet, Lelia, fair ! when Death shall come, 
To lead me to the voiceless home — 
Thy starry eyes shall dim with tears. 
And sorrow crown thy lonely years ! 



s-^f'^5.^ 



24 



•»-^!*j^V3 




^<«^5^-* 



BEER-SHEBA. 



•>~^-i^^^i<^~f 



was a time of gladness : 
Isaac was weaned that day — 
The handsome, high-born lad, 
In whom, Jehovah had 
Said, should Abraham's seed be called. 
Ah ! who cared for the sadness, 
That like a shadow lay. 
On Hagar's face ? 
Her name, and race, 
Unhonored were ; 
Unhappy fate ! 
She was a stranger there ; 
A poor, Egyptian slave. 
But, Sarah was a "Princess" — 
And, beside, the lawful wife ; 
Her darling boy. 
The only joy, 

Of a doting mother's life — 
Was termed : " Legitmate." 



26 BEER-SHEBA. 



Now, Sarah was very fair ; 

Her silken, yellow hair. 

Showed her Chaldaic birth ; 

Her well-arched instep; and 

Her white, delicate hand ; 

Her stately, supple form ; 

Her temper quick, and warm ; 

And blue eyes full of mirth; 

And spiritual, sensitive mouth — 

Spoke the daughter of the South. 

Yet, nevertheless, 

Hagar's head was crowned with tresses, 

Raven-black, and freely flowing, 

In shining ripples to her shapely feet ; 

Long, dark lashes veiled tlie glowing 

Of lucid, loving eyes ; 

Her cheeks were richly red, 

Betraying the amorous caresses 

Of a fervid Afric sun. 

She was tall, and full — well made ; 

Her voluptuous bosom rose and fell, 

With the deep, generous swell 

Of kindly feeling, 

Always revealing 

Its rounded pleasantness, 

Through her transparent dress. 

Her large limbs were as satin smooth; 

Her neck, as an ivory tower; 

The lovely tips 

Of her scarlet lips 

Like the bright pomegranate-flower. 

Ishmael was well-grown ; 

His only garment thrown. 

Careless about him, 



g 



BEER-SHEBA. 2/ 

Was worn with noble grace. 
The boy was strong, and wild- 
He looked on Sarah's child, 
With hate, and scorn ; 
Wiiy was Jic born — 
The Patriarch's heir? 
So, with pointing finger, 
And taunting leer, 
Did Ishmael linger, 
To mock, and jeer! 
When Sarah saw 
The bold outlaw, 
She called her lord, 
And spake the word : 
" Send the woman away. 
Let her go today — 
Her son shall not be 
Joint-heir, with mine ! " 
Much it grieved Abram's heart — 
Although he walked with God, 

He was only human. 

He loved his child most fatherly ; 

And from his comely bond-woman. 

He was, also, loath to part. 

But, The Voice Divine 

Bade him obey. 

And without delay — 

The wish of his dutiful wife; 

He led Hagar out of the tent — 

He sent her forth, into banishment! 

Oh! did the outcast weep? 

Or, like the silent sheep. 

To the sacrifice, was she led ? 

Peradventure her master said : 



28 



BEER-SHEBA. 



*• The fault be on thy head ; 
I have given thee water, and bread." 
Did Hagar feel appall — 
Did she, at his firm feet, downfall? 
Did those tender ties that bind, 
The wedded, body, and mind — 
Tie the Egyptian, too ? 
How can we guess — ah ! who. 
Can rightly know, and say ; 
WhetherHagar loved, or, hated her son's 
sire, that day ? 




^#<^ 



s& 



KIIITrilTI I ZI I I I I IT» 




TO DIANA C 

jjh ! the face that sad, and eager, 
Turns toward the setting sun — 
As the golden bowl is broken, 
And its silver waters run ; 
Courage ! courage ! weary watcher, 
For thy day is nearly done. 

Oh ! the footsteps slow, and heavy. 
Struggling to the threshold bright; 
Waiting for the opening portals^ 
Of eternal joy, and light — 
Waiting for the great Redeemer, 
To guide through starless night. 

Oh ! the hands, that weak, and trembling. 

Grasped yet Life's lingering ray — 

Lie now still, and white, and resting. 

After earth's toilsome day. 

Ah ! while we deeply mourn thy loss, 

And weeping lay thee down — 

Thou — who hast nobly born^ the cross, 

Dost radiant wear the crown ! 

29 



*-^'i^i 




f^^^-^j^_j^^^^^^^^Hj^^^-^:^^^r!^ 



^nl 



%M^ 



\rz 



LULLABY. 



«-^»f^«^^ag^- 



ush ! baby, hush ! 

The httle birds are in the nest. 
Sleep! baby, sleep! 
On Mother's tender bosom, blest. 
The holy stars begin to rise ; 
The solemn night- wind softly sighs- 
Hush! baby, hush! 
The little birds are in the nest. 



Peace ! baby, peace ! 

Thou snowy, cooing dove — 

Rest ! baby, rest ! 

Thou living proof of Love — 

The good ship sails on the treasure quest; 

She bears the one, that we love best — 

Peace! baby, peace! 

Thou snowy, cooing dove. 



30 



LULLABY 



31 



Hush! baby, hush! 

All nature seeks repose. 

Sleep! baby, sleep! 

The workman homeward goes. 

The waves will rock thy father's bed! 

The winds sing lullaby round his head — 

Hush ! baby, hush ! 

All nature seeks repose. 

Peace ! baby, peace ! 

Thou darling, dimpled boy. 

Rest! baby, rest! 

Thou bud of hope, and joy. 

We know what Power our dear one keeps 

That mighty Watcher never sleeps — 

Peace ! baby, peace ! 

Thou darling, dimpled boy. 




■"^gS^^-* 



-~s>*^ 




^s^w. 



THE LOVER'S SONG. 

^^■$^ 

'Jl^\ 11 of God's sunshine seems, 

Gathered in her golden hair — 
The whole of the blue sky beams, 
In the eyes of my darling Clare ! 

The melodies of all climes, 
That make the heart rejoice — 
The harmonies of all times, 
Blend in her glad, young voice! 

The perfume of every flower, 

The sweets of all Araby — 

When we meet, in the garden-bower, 

Breathe on her lips, for me ! 

Ah ! surely the bliss of the Blest, 
Who dwell in the heavenly land — 
Is no more than mine, while I rest, 
With my love, thus, hand in hand ! 

Haste, rosy hours, away! 
Roll rapid, ye orbs of light ! 
Bring round the happy day — 
Bring near the Wedding-Night! 
32 



"m 






A PLEA. 



^^^ 



^et the flowers live-the fair, fresh flowers! ■ 
Born of Spring sunshine, and soft showers; 
Brief is their beauteous bloom ! 
Ere long, all pale, with faint perfume, 
Those fairy, fragile forms must lie — 
Doom not the happy flowers to die ! 

Let the flowers fade-the gentle flowers ! 

Within their cool, and cloistered bowers. 

Leave them, sweet nuns, to yield their breath. 

In natural, and aromatic death — 

Unsoiled by a sacrilegious hand; 

Borne by the pure angels, to the Better Land! 



«t-^3^^= 




Ig^sf-* 



33 




VASHTI. 



he ivory palace, Shushan, lay 

White as a snow-flake, in the sheen 

Of the full. Orient moon. 

Through open portals, and windows wide, 

Floated a thousand sweets; 

From smoking vases, and censers. 

Mingled with odors of fragrant flowers, 

And perfume-playing founts — 

Floated on the dewy air of evening, 

And rose up to the silent stars. 

As vesper-orisons of their votaries — 

The pleasure-loving Persians. 

And, music, too, now swelling loud, 

As martial strains on the battle-field; 

Now, sighing soft, and tender-sweet. 

As breathings of enchanted tlute — 

Was poured into the bosom of Night — 

The thoughtful, thankful Night, 

Who held her peace, to listen. 

34 



VASHTI. 35 

Within — the light of countless silver sconces, 
And alabaster lamps, innumerable, 
Gleamed o'er the polished porphyry pillars, 
Supporting the gilded dome ; 
And upon the velveted steps, that led to the 

carved throne, 
Wheron sat the royal drunkard, Ahasuerus! 

Arrayed in fine linen, and purple, was he ; 
Splendid with jewels ; with crown, and scep- 
tre dight — 
But, sensual; gluttonous; swelling with pride J 
The rotten heart of a dissolute court. 
Seven days he had feasted sumptuously, 
With his lords — the flattering parasites, 
That called his follies: Wisdom — 
That termed his vices: Good — 
Bullocks — deer — sheep — kids — 
Whole beasts scarcely sufficed to feed, 
The regal, ravenous company; 
While, after, they gorged themselves, 
With the famous Persian desserts — 
Washing down the costly viands. 

With heady Eastern wines of age, 
Drunk out of jeweled, gold cups, 
Holding each more than a quart! 
Such banqueting, and such drinking. 

Bring ever one bad result — 
Making a melancholy metamorphosis: 
A change from human to bestial — 
Behold then — Nobles become brutes! 
In their madness — in their excesses, 
The King was always the head; 
Inebriate by the juice of grapes; 
Intoxicate with vanity — drunk with conceit; 



36 VASHTI. 

In an evil hour Satan prompted him, 

To send for his Wife: to reveal 

Her boasted charms, unveiled, to his guests. 

Full many a flower of beauty, grew in that 

gardenPrare, 
Vashti was chosen their Queen; 
And many a precious jewel sparkled there, 
She was brightest crown-gem — yet unseen. 
The royal Lady was found. 
Where she should be. 
After, her countr}^'s custom, 
In the seraglio privacy. 
Yet, not as usual Persian women were, 
Passing the time in utter idleness ; 
Diligent she wrought a gorgeous saddle- 
cloth. 
For the Monarch's favorite horse — 
While by her knee, sat a maiden. 
Knotting the bullion fringe. 
On the other side, her damsels — 
Daughters of the dukes, were all — 
Deftly embroidered a gay caparison. 
For Xerxes' white war-elephant: 
The scarlet cover was stiff with pearls ; 
Diamonds ; sapphires ; rubies ; 
And, bordered around by small gold bells. 
At Vashti's feet lay a beautiful boy : 
Her youngest brother, Cyrus Darius — 
Who, with remarkable perseverance for a 

child, 
Was arranging a curious Chinese puzzle. 
Exquisitely carved out of scented wood. 
Fronting the Queen, sat her father: 
Cyaxares Hystaspes, of Media, porphyrogene. 






VASHTI. 37 

This noble was reading aloud, from yellow 

scroll, 
The history of the ancient kingdoms , 
Qf the Medes, and of the Persians, 
(Whose sacred laws changed not — ) 
With many marvelous exploits, and good 

deeds. 
Of the by-gone heroes, and of the kings. 

The messengers came — seven chamberlains, 
they. 

Haughty princes, yet humbly kneeling, 

They gave to the Beautiful, the august bid- 
ing. 

Vashti uprose — placing her dainty foot. 

White as milk, in the golden sandal. 

On the neck of her sleek, tame leopard — 

That fawned, kitten-like, 

And licked fondly her flesh. 

Calm as a goddess ; resolute ; and pale ; 

Her eyes were softly radiant. 

As stars, when misty draperies 

O'er hang the lamps of heaven ; 

Her hand, that a King hath kissed, 

Her little hand held up for silence. 

She thus spake : " Back ! minions. 

To your Monarch-Master ; 

Say unto him : ' The Queen — 

The Queen refuses to appear ! ' " 

Outcried her cautious sire — 

Fearful of the imagined ire — 

My beloved — my daughter dear ! 

Hast thou well done, to disobey. 

The summons of thy wedded lord ^ 

Throwing away a kingdom ; 



m 



38 



VASHTI. 



Losing the royal estate — 

Incurring his brutal anger ; 

Rousing fierce Darius' hate ? " 

Noblest of women ! pure, gentle ; and firm ; 

Insensible to fear — 

She cast her gem-like eyes on him, 

With a tender, pitying smile. 

And pronounced the fiat solemnly : 

"The Queen of Media-Persia, 

Refuses to appear !" 

Yea! She has well — has wisely done, 

Though her life the forfeit be — 

Vashti immortalized Woman, by one — 

One act of courage, and modesty ! 




Bi mmiXDxncixxia 



TO THEE. 



JO.ear traveler in unknown lands, 
Iftll Or, voyager on some strange sea — 
Often I clasp my weak, small hands, 
And pray for thee, most fervently. 
To shady grot, where we met last, 
My Mecca-pilgrimage shall be ; 
A sacred Caaba of the past, 
The rock, that once was pressed by thee ! 

The dainty daisy bursts the clod ; 
The slender harebell newly blows ; 
Bright buttercups, in the sunshine nod ; 
While buds the fragile wild hedge-rose. 
The climbing yellow jessamines. 
In graceful garlands, now are seen ; 
The fragrant honeysuckle twines, 
Where all the woods are robed in green. 

The gaudy insects swiftly dart ; 
The birds sport merry, on the boughs ; 
The farmer-man, with hopeful heart, 
Is singing cheerful, as he ploughs. 
I hear the cawing of the crow. 
As the dusk flock flies o'er the trees ; 
The patient cattle's plaintive low, 
Is borne upon the morning breeze. 

39 



^ 



40 



TO THEE. 



Melodious murmurs of the brook — 
A little crystal, meadow stream — 
Fall on the ear , in this still nook, 
Like distant music, in a dream. 
The gentle sound awakes again, 
Echoes in memory's solemn halls ; 
A mingled joy, there is, with pain, 
Which the dim reverie recalls. 

Amid such pleasing sylvan scene. 
How blissful it would be, for me, 
To pass through shadov/, and through sheen. 
Again, my worshiped one, with thee ! 
How far off seems the heaven high 
Towards which the pines vainly aspire ; 
Through their tall tops, the lone winds sigh. 
Sweet, as the sad ^olian lyre ! 

— Back to the world, I wend my way, 

Like Ixion, on the wheel to move — 

So slow drag torture-hours away. 

This burning passion may, wild madness 

prove ! 
The vulture, on my quivering vitals, prey ; 
As Sisyphus, to roll the restless stone ; 
Or, Tantalus' cup, my thirsty lips assay — 
When Grief drives ruined Reason, from her 

throne ! 




DAY. 41 

, , «- 

1- j)recious, as glimpses of lost Aiden's beams, 
To exile's eyes, the dim horizon gleams — 
Afar, the modest morning brightly breaks 
Through pearly portals, with faint, blushing 

streaks ; 
Like a young nun, that sad gray garments 

wears ; 
But, smiling, at the convent door appears, 
And opening timidly, the grave old gate ; 
Scatters her alms, to all who watch and wait. 

The radiant morn shall quickly put to flight. 
The hideous spectres of the dismal night — 
The Mind shall rise, and shall expand her 

wings. 
For strength, and courage, the blest dawning 

brings. 
Too narrow seems my mortal house of clay — 
Often it sadly clogs my heavenward way ; 
Senseless, with kindred clods, it soon shall 

sleep — 
The Immortal free, thro' boundless space 

shall sweep ! 

Through the long hours of darkness, the 

lone lark, 
Silent has cherished Hope's electric spark — 
Buoyant, he soars, at last, from ground away, 
With carols loud, he greets the coming Day. 
As some sweet soul, joyous at its release. 
Ascends with songs, to realms of love and 

peace ; 
Spirit, to solitude, by Fate, here given — 







42 , DAY. 

That goes to join its longing mate in heaven! 

All hail ! the advent of the glorious sun — 
His genial course, he glad, begins to run ; 
During his absence, Earth was pale, and cold; 
. But, now, she shows her charms are manifold ; 
Like Memnon's statue, that would silent be, 
Till smitten, by sunbeams, in minstrelsy: 
Voiceless, and dead, all Nature's marvels 

stand. 
Till touched by potent Light's Ithuriel-Wand ! 

Away with guilt ! into deep caverns cower ; 
Full well ye fear the god's revealing power ! 
He shows the blood-stain on the slayer's hand, 
And on Cain's cursed brow, the ghastly 

brand — 
Hated the Light, by those whose works are 

evil ; i 

Satan, once Lucifer, is now Chief-Devil — 
He day abhors, and leads his horrid host, 
Mid Erebus'-shades — half-blind, and wholly 

lost! 

.Great East-born Monarch of the solar fire! 
More lavish thou, than Croesus on his pyre — 
When, opulent, the Lydian king of old, 
Offer/ed, for life, a mountain of pure gold. 
God-like, thou dost exhaustless gifts bestow. 
And o'er all lands, thy priceless bounty 

throw; 
Thy gorgeous banner — oriflamme, unfurled — 
Thou dost give wealth to m.any a wondrous 

world ! 



7^ 



DAY. 



43 



From Thy best symbol, gracious Lord, to 

Thee — 
I Hft the heart — I bow the humble knee. 
Thou art the Life, the Truth, the shining 

Way- 
Cheerless without Thee, the most brilliant 

Day! 
Forbid my pleasures always should sensual be, 
Nor, ever let me cease to sigh, my God, for 

Thee! 
While I praise the great work of Thy mighty 

Hand— 
I worship the Angel, that in the sun, doth 

stand ! 




-^!*i^ 




cS^S*?* 



NIGHT. 

llfT^'he gaudy, summer-glowing day is done; 
At last, its glarish, feverish light is gone ! 
The placid planet, Jupiter shines alone, • 

Serenely seated on his jewelled throne. 
Above the tall towers of the tired town, 
A luminous mist descends, as soft as down. 
The noise — the strife, that vex the busy way, 
Give place to Peace, who holds her heavenly 
sway. 

Now, the wee folks trip forth from 'neath the 
eaves, 

Of their neat dwellings, formed of flower- 
leaves ; 

To the charmed ring, they hie, and lightly 
there, 

They foot the dance, till crow of matin chant- 
icleer. 

The favored spot, by tiny feet, thus pressed, 

Shall every morn, with blossoms new, be 
blessed ; 

And guileless children, to their comrades call: 

To see the circle of the Fairies' ball ! 
44 



NIGHT. 45 

The moon sedately rises, with calm grace — 
A chaste Diana, with her pale, sweet face — 
A spiritual radiance, from her silver crown; 
Her smile, o'er all, a mystic spell has thrown. 
To swell, or ebb, the ocean's changing tide. 
The ugly scars of Earth's wild thi'oes to hide : 
This gentle goddess comes, and glorifies, 
Our sphere, till meet to vie with starry skies ! 

What wisdom has the giddy Day ? 
She has the sliding, subtile serpent — aye! 
Night has the first philosopher, the Owl — 
I hear his hoot, answering the watch-dog's 

howl. 
Sagacious creatures ! prescient instinct given 
They feel the occult influence of the orbs ol 

heaven. 
When Man would rush, all ignorant, to his fate, 
His knowing beast stirs not, to pass the gate ! 

The madman, at his casement's iron bars. 
Upturns his wan face, to the distant stars — 
He hears the river, that near his prison flows, 
And longs for liberty, there to end his woes. 
He moves — the moonlight on him sickly falls- 
With piercing shrieks on the Great Power, he 

calls ; 
He laughs — he dances, most fantastic freaks — 
LunaticX every action, loudly speaks. 

.Thank God, for the maternal, tender Night — 
She heals the tear-dimmed eyes, that ache in 

light; 
She kindly shields the bleeding heart's great 

grief; 



46 NIGHT. 

From idle scorn — and she confers relief. 
To the worn soul, mild meditation brings, 
Faint from rude combat, with vile, sordid 

things — 
She lays cool fingers on the brow of care, 
And gaunt Anxiety, doth disappear! 

Once more, Jehovah-Abba ! unto Thee, 

Grateful, I come to bend adoringly — 

Lord of the bright Day — of the shadowy 

Night — 
To Thee, the darkness shineth, even as the 

light. 
Thy Hand supports the universe, while I 

repose — 
Lulled by this thought, my wear)-' eyelids 

close ; 
The God, that all things made, all things can 

surely keep — 
His faithful angels guard me — so I fall on 

sleep ! 



^^^5.^ 




EVENING. 



,s a youthful maiden blushes, 

With the thrill of love's first bliss ;■ 

So, the virgin heaven flushes. 

With a glow, from the sun's warm kiss. 

Light, the amorous airs are meeting, 

All embracing, as they blow — 

And the sea, the shore, is greeting. 

With murmurs soft, and low. 

The faint, and thirsty flowers, 
Pale looks, to the sky, upturn : 
In prayer, that the Summer showers, 
May cool each empty urn. 
Nature, her offspring frail, attends — 
She bids the balmy dews distill ; 
And, as her benison descends. 
Gold cup, and azure vase, refill. 

The fat kine, with their coats of silk. 
Are loath to leave the grassy field : 
Although the generous flow of milk. 
Their bursting udders ache to yield. 
The bleating of the flocks that come— 
The drowsy tinkle of the bells — 
The herdsman's haut-boy leading home— 
A charming pastoral idyl tells. 

47 



48 EVENING, 

The bustling beetle, buzzing spins ; 
The frogs croak, in the brake ; 
The insect-orchestra begins, 
Droning, and half-awake; 
The pur-blind bats are winging. 
Their flight, now East — now West ; 
And the mocking-bird is singing, 
To the fledglings in the nest. 

The whippoorwill's lonely refrain. 

Far echoes over hill, and vale — 

That mournful singer strives in vain. 

To hush the dulcet nightingale : 

The joys of love — and all love's woes — 

His song excels the rest ; 

He, wooing still, the beauteous rose, 

With a thorn, to his bosom, prest ! 

Dear Alice ! lay your book aside, 
And put your bright embroidery by — 
Come forth, and wander, my sweet bride, 
Beneath the changing Evening sky. 
Blest, as the first pair, guiltless were. 
In Eden — lost alas ! too soon. 
The twilight darkens — night is here ; 
The stag-hound bays the rising moon. 





TO ISABEL. 



•••-^>5;^*5^;<^-* 



Kh ! turn your cruel face away — 
I cannot calmly bear to see, 
Your dazzling smile's deceitful play, 
Since you have proved untrue to me. 
Treacherous, as sudden thawing ice ; 
Delusive, as the hectic bloom ; 
False, as the purple robes of Vice ; 
Or, witches' lamp mid graveyard gloom ! 



Like ignis fatmis' fatal light. 

You lead men wildly, far astray — 

Dancing before the infatuate sight. 

Fickle — then vanishing away ! 

Or, like the mirage, floating fair, 

With flowers ; with fruit ; with gurgling 

stream ; 
That cheats the eye — dissolves in air : 
The charmed oasis of a desert dream ! 

49 



50 TO ISABEL. 

Transient, as is the meteor's flight, 

Across the ebon, arching sky — 

That darker leaves the lonely night, 

After its rapid passing by. 

Deadly, as blighting bolts of levin, 

You sear the hearts, with which you toy ; 

You lure your victims, by a glimpse of 

heaven — 
Then, blinding utterly — destroy ! 

— But, go your chosen conqueror-way — 

I can foresee a dreadful end ; 

Time, as years pass, will break your sway — 

TJicn, you will want a faithful friend. 

You will not jest at pain, and laugh, 

As, callous, you were wont to do ; 

The bitter draught, your lovers quaff. 

In anguish, must be druuk, by you ! 

Drain then, alone, the hemlock-cup ; 
Nor, vainly hope that I will bend. 
To lift expiring Beauty up — 
Or, any kind consoling lend. 
Some worthy woman shall possess, 
My hand — my heart — my home — 
Coldly -the world looks on distress. 
With justice, to base Falsehood, come! 



'^(if-c- 




-^^t^^^^ 




RACHEL. 

Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew ! 

The Merchant of Venice. 



,air Israelite ! Rachel ! 
It is thy marriage-day — 
Soon thou wilt bid farewell, 
To home — to comrades gay. 
The song ; the dance ; the guileless sports ; 
The merry games ; and frolic play — 
The Freedom, that with Youth, consorts — 
These must be put away. 



te= 



Oh ! Innocent Rachel ! 
I send my greeting warm ; 
God knows, I wish thee well — 
Heaven keep thee, safe from harm ! 
He were a fiend, could bear thee ill — 
So late, a careless child ; 
With kindly heart, but wayward will ; 
Fleet as the deer — and wild ! 

SI 



52 



RACHEL. 

Sweet Israelite ! Rachel ! 

It is thy v/edding-eve ; 

To thee — a magic spell ; 

The thought, my soul, doth grieve. 

But, sacred blest, till life shall close, — 

Loving with manhood's might ; 

I cherish still, the crimson rose. 

You wore that summer night 1 

Ah ! Ravishing — Rachel ! 
Thy charms, beyond all praise — 
Thy liquid, dark eyes fell. 
Then, 'neath my ardent gaze. 
By deep emotion moved ; 
In the shadows bolder grown — 
I clasped the olive hand I loved, 
And held it, in mine own ! 

But, timid, young Rachel ! 
Alarmed by passion's power. 
Sped swift away — ah, well ! 
She left this emblem-flower : 
Dearer than costly gems, to me 
The one rose from her breast — 
Its incense faint, stirs memory. 
Of perfumed Paradise, it prest ! 

Oh ! Israelite — Rachel ! 
The altar-rites begin — 
White robes, of sacrifice tell ; 
Thou victim, pure from sin ! 
With odorous bath, and scented oils, 
The priestess doth the lamb prepare — 
Deftly she braids the massy coils. 
Of thy lustrous, long, black hair. 



RACHEL. 

Most idolized Rachel ! 

With Indian diamonds bright — 

Wilt pity him, by stern compel, 

Denied thine eyes soft light ? 

Yet, oh ! had adverse Fortune given, 

To me thy matchless beauty : 

This common Earth had rivalled Heaven ; 

And worship been — my duty ! 

But, radiant Rachel ! 
It is thy nuptial-night — 
My feelings fierce rebel ; 
This blow makes fatal blight. 
Alas ! that in such undue haste. 
With Hebrew Dives, thou art wed ; 
I curse the cruel laws of Caste — 
And, hapless, wish that I were dead ! 



53 



«->S^; 




*^5<^ 




54 INAMORATA. 

ift-times I see, Inamorata, 
On the busy, noisy street ; 
And, often, too, in festive throngs, 
As merry guests, we meet. 
At matins — mass — or, vespers — 
In the dim church I stray ; 
I kneel devout — I move my lips — 
Alas ! I do not pray ! 
My eyes to no Saint, make appeal 
But, on a woman's beauty feast — 
And all absorbed, I never hear. 
The good words, of the pious priest — 
The Masters' music — I, once loved, 
Is an unheeded thing ; 
By strains sublime, my soul unmoved— 
I only hear her sing ! 

With lips as pink as coral ; 

And cheeks, like a young blush-rose ; 

Her skin of alabaster, 

With health, and vigor glows. 

Her eyes are black as midnight — 

Jewel of sunny Spain ! 

Her locks in golden meshes gleam. 

That all mankind retain. 

She is tall, and slim, and graceful, 

As the lily on its stem — 

Her perfect hand — like ivory, 

Glimmers with many a gem. 

With foot like wee Titania's, sure ; 

And face like Hebe's own ; 

The mantle, on her shoulders pure, 

Of Phryne bright, was thrown ! 



INAMORATA. 5 5 

When e'er this beauteous Being, 
Flashes on my wondering sight, 
I shade my orbs, from her glory — 
As, in excess of light. 
I bow — as to an Empress ; 
Incoherent words, I say : 
About the state of the weather — 
The latest ball ; or, the last play. 
She laughs — makes gracious answer, 
With voice flute-soft, and sweet; 
My senses are all enchanted — 
I would fall, and kiss her feet ! 
Yet, I strive still, to deceive her. 
What my strong emotions be — 
It could but amuse — or, grieve her — 
The writ of my heart to see ! 

To make sport of my abject misery, 

I'll not give her ladyship leave — 

And once being badly wounded, 

I eschew, now, the daughters of Eve ! 

Ah ! Love, with profound agitations, 

And blisses — is all very well — 

But, ccrtes, it is not as pleasant. 

To be thrown down from Heaven — to Hell ! 

So, farewell — divinest of maidens ! 

I toast you, to-night, in my wine — 

Long may you live — may you never. 

Lack devotees fond, at your shrine ! 

Your eyes are too brilliantly jetty — 

( I'd not trust them, tho', were they blue ! ) 

Your smile is bewitchingly pretty — 

The Lord only knows — ififs tnte ! 



^ 




SUPERBA FCEMINA. 



ost beautiful female creature, 
Cast in colossal mould — 
Perfect in form, and feature, 
Like the pristine race of old ; 
When Earth was full of lusty life, 
And Nature robust — then, 
Enamored sons of gods, to wife 
Took the faultless daughters of men. 



Agile, as the sleek tigress moves, 
When o'er the sands, she speeds, 
To join the lordly beast, she loves, 
And guard him, while he feeds. 
High-mettled, as the Arab-horse, 
Famished, and well-nigh spent. 
That never slacks her winged course. 
Till gained the Bedouin-tent ! 



56 




SUPERBA FCEMINA 57 

Swart, ox-eyed Juno, seeming fit, 

To reign at Jove's right hand — 

When grave Olympian councils sit, 

To hear his high command. 

Minerva tall ! on field of war, 

In glittering ccgis drest — 

Whose helmet nods a golden star; 

Whose chlamys blue, veils goddess-breast! 

Like thee, Zenobia may have been : 

Voluptuous — olive-hued ; 

Imperious — warm — a desert-queen, 

By dusky suitors wooed — 

But, not as luckless Palmyrene, 

A captive lonely, led afar, 

Thou shalt not, haughty Porphyrogene ! 

Grace any cruel Conqueror's car — 

Gorgeous, as Cleopatra glowed. 

Reclined on the gilded float — 

When Cupids fanned ; and Graces rowed, 

Her purple silk-sailed boat — 

Yet, Amazon ! Thou wouldst not turn, 

Thy vessel's silver prow ; 

Too brightly bold, thy black eyes burn, 

To fly the Roman foe ! 

Thou hast strong Jael's iron nerve — 

By the weary warrior found ; 

Thou, too, the courteous cup couldst serve — 

Then — nail his brow to the ground ! 

Or, calmly sweet, as Jeptha's maid, 

To the altar, smiling, go — 

A virgin victim Valor paid, 

To sanctimonious vow ! 



5B 



SUPERBA FCEMINA. 



Thou hast inspired Miriam's glance, 

Whose sacred minstrelsy, 

With cymbals — harp — and solemn dance, 

Praised God, by the Red Sea — 

Noble, as Judith — thou dost feel, 

Thy people's woes, and fain. 

To Heaven, thou too, wouldst lift the steel- 

And dedicate the slain ! 

Superba ! altho' thou art human. 
As the judgment of Paris, receive, 
Mine — when to Thee — loveliest woman ! 
The Apple of Gold, I give. 
My dark Venus ! wilt thou be grateful, 
And step, from thy rayed nimbus down. 
To bestow, not Helen's hand, fateful — 
Peerless Acme ! but, give me thine own ! 





^^^J^- 



LA BAYADERE. 

am the young Bayadere ; 
My guileless heart beats free from care; 
Gaily I play my pretty tambourine — 
As I dance lightly on the velvet green ! 
Tra-la! Tra-la! 
Ha-ha! Ha-ha! 

Stranger, I may not talk with you — 
I fear your eyes — wood-violets blue ! 
My lord, what was it, that you said : 
That you would wed the nut-brown maid ? 

Tra-la! Tra-la! 

Ha-ha! Ha-ha! 

59 



6o 



LA BAYADERE. 



Know, by our laws inhuman, 

To yield would be death to a Gypsy woman : 

I dare not, then, accept your kiss — 

I cannot give, to you. Love's bliss — 

Tra-la! Tra-la ! 

Ha-ha! Ha-ha! 

See there — where comes my Romany pere ; 
And with him, too, my sunburnt fere- 
Say, Stranger ! never fly, but stand ; 
I read your fortune, in your hand — 

Tra-la ! Tra-la ! 

Ha-ha! Ha-ha! 

You will, in wedlock, soon be blest ; 
The fair bride wears a Countess' crest ; 
And children three, shall bless your bed ; 
Then, she will join the early dead — 

Tra-la! Tra-la! 

Ha-ha! Ha-ha! 

But, you shall long live, rich and old, 
This tale, to many a maid will be told ; 
Your face is handsome — but your heart is 

cold 
Adieu ! Sir, I thank you for your gold. 

Tra-la ! Tra-la ! 

Ha-ha! Ha-ha! 



*-^f;^= 




o*^*<<^ 



~1 



*-^:»£^= 




"i^^;*if-* 



EARTH-ANGELS. 



Ihe tender, true young violets, 
In Spring, that deck the sod, 
And, all the humble flowerets, 
Are messengers of God. 
Their breath is sweet — their beauty fair, 
Though the seed in the mould has lain — 
By their resurrection they declare ; 
The Dead shall live again ! 

Each modest, tiny, forest-treasure. 

To the great Creator, dear — 

Gives to His mind, as much of pleasure, 

As the august Angel near. 

And to every dainty, precious frame, 

There is true perfection given ; 

The Hand that made them, is the same, 

That gemmed the fields of heaven ! 



6i 



62 EARTH-ANGELS. 

The meek, and lowly little sisterhood, 

All happy, bloom unseen ; 

Contented with their share of worldly good, 

Beneath the large oaks screen. 

But, when the fiercest storm wind blows, 

And the angry clouds are driven — 

Secure, the pretty blossom bows ; 

While the oak, from its base, is riven ! 

If man would leave unholy pride. 

And learn humility ; 

The penitent his head should hide, 

Swept by adversity. 

Lowly and trusting, the nurselings lie. 

Amid the trembling grasses — 

To lift their blue eyes to the sky. 

Soon as the tempest passes ! 

Let mortals well-pleased with their lot, 

Lend all the aid they may, 

To consecrate our native spot, 

With incense-thanks, each day. 

Let each one, faithful at his post, 

Do duty, great or, small — 

How much of Nature's charms were lost, 

If all the plants grew tall ! 

Then, when the Summer-time is o'er. 
And the gentle Reaper come : 
We yield our flowers, to bloom once more. 
Fadeless, in God's own home. 
So tearful — yet, so sure are we: 
That, the germ in Earth's dark womb. 
United with the Soul shall be — 
Triumphant from the tomb ! 



THE BUD. 



j,ow sweet the honeysuckle's scent, 
That chmbs the garden-v,^all ; 
With odors of the spice-pinks, blent ; 
And, the tube-roses, pale and tall. 
Oh ! jovial June — when all in tune, 
The blithe birds chant aloud ; 
When fresh airs blow — so soft and low, 
From skies without a cloud I 

Ah, me ! but I was glad to-day, 

When coming from the town — 

I met with Walter, on the way — 

How handsome he has grown! 

With manner bland — he took my hand, 

He drew it thro' his arm ; 

Said, he had come, to bring me home, 

And keep me safe from harm. 



In all the lands, where he has been, 
From Norway, to the far South Sea — 
He said : no maiden he has seen. 
That could, at all, compare with me. 
He praised my foot — my pretty boot — 
My blue eyes; and my chestnut hair; 
My girlish grace — my oval face ; 
My ripe lips ; and my brow, so fair ! 

63 



64 



THE BUD. 



Beguiled by such seductive talk, ^ 

Our spell-bound steps grew slow — 

Ere we had made the five-mile walk, 

The Summer sun hung low. 

The hour was late — when at the gate, 

Parting he told his love. 

While, with our wooing — mingled the cooing, 

Of turtles, in the neighboring grove ! 

Thrice welcome, best beloved Night ! 

That gives the Soul, to tender dreams — 

Now, tho' Earth's charms are veiled to sight, 

Her beauty most enchanting seems. 

Oh ! golden noonlight — oh ! silver moonlight! 

O'er hill, and dale, and wood ; 

With sparkling sea — and wave-washed lea, 

The Maker, first, pronounced ye, good ! 



In Solitude I am no more alone — 

My pregnant thoughts do people empty 

space — 
Still, I can hear my suitor's pleading tone ; 
Still, I can see my lover's earnest face ! 
My heart rejoice! his mellow voice, 
Makes music more divine than magic flute ; 
Such notes ne'er fell — from the seraph 

Israfel — 
More dulcet far, than Orpheus' fabled lute I 




THE FLOWER. 



new king rules — sovereign severe ! 
And the deposed, despised old Year — 
Weary of breath — draws near his death, 
Ready in robes of spotless snow. 
Rudely a requiem, wild winds blow ; 
Earth a funereal aspect, wears ; 
While, pitying Nature's pearly tears. 
On her changed face, so sad, so ^ere — 
Are frozen fast, ere they can flow ; 
No cheer the murky heavens show. 

The last hour of the glad Yule-tide, 
To night, as Walter's elect-bride, 
All richly drest — the honored guest, 
Of Lady Lynne, of Lynnewood Hall — 
Peerless, I reign — Queen of the ball! 
We laugh — we jest — we dance a measure; 
We deeply drink of Hope, and Pleasure — 
Doth the cup of Fate hold aught beside? 
Bright nectar-drops, from rose-wreathed gob- 
lets fall ; 
— Oft under flowers, hides the serpent small ! 

65 



66 THE FLOWER. 

Ancestral home ! whose splendors vie, 
To please the taste, and charm the eye — 
The lamplight falls, o 'er pictured walls, 
Revealing many a long lost face ; 
In royal velvet, and costly lace, 
Shows many a courtly Cavalier — 
No surly, rebel Round Head, here ! 
This grand old race should never die; 
But, all immortal youth should wear — 
Each gallant Knight, and Lady Fair! 

The banquet board with precious vessels 

shines ; 
Serving choice viands, and the rarest wines — 
Exquisite sight! 'twould soothe a Sybarite, 
On his soft, silken couch reclining — 
Or tempt the voluptuous Roman into dining ! 
Now, filled each glass — the goodly company. 
Bow low, and lift their looks to me — 
Blushing, I turn to Walter, standing by; 
With smiling lip, and sparkling eye. 
The happy host doth, thus, reply : 

" We seat no Mummy, at table, here — 
Neither, doth Banquo's ghost appear: 
Let hearts be light, on this festal night; 
That, Life is brief, we all believe — : 
Let us enjoy — why should we grieve? 
Let us enjoy — our simple duty : 
Respect to Age — homage to Beauty I 
Deep thought is fit for men with cowls ; 
And Wisdom, we will leave to — owls ! 
The best advice, the ancients give — 
With flowing bowl, the toast receive : 
' Tis : ' While, we live — oh I let us live ! " ' 




THE FRUIT. 



' ike some sad strain in minstrelsy, 

The minor chord thrills thro ' my life — 
Oh ! burst these bonds, and set me free — 
A lonely — unloved wife! 
My face was fair — and free from care, 
My young heart, when we met; 
How sad and strange, that he could change- 
While I — I love him yet! 

"Blest is the bride the sun shines on," 

The village-gossips used to say — 

I deemed the happy omen won. 

On my sweet wedding-day. 

Oh ! bright the morn — ^and in the thorn, 

The throstle sang with glee — 

In snowy vest, my virgin breast, 

Beat time so timidly! 

67 



68 THE FRUIT. 

The willow, and the mournful yew — 

Those aged, solemn trees, 

That so long in the church-yard grew. 

Coquetted with the breeze ! 

And all our way, was glad and gay. 

With Spring-flowers strewn between — 

Where we did pass, o 'er the cool grass, 

My Mother's pleasant grave was green! 

Alas ! though scarce a year is sped. 

My happiness is gone — 

My calm content, so soon is fled, 

I sigh, and weep, alone ! 

And yet the while — my infant's smile, 

To angel-whispers, in his dreams — 

Shines a pure star, from heaven afar. 

That on the midnight darkness gleams ! 

I know I shall not see again. 
The purple blossoms on the heath; 
Though my sick soul is faint with pain, 
Nothing can break my chains — ^but Death ! 
Safe on that shore — we will grieve no more- 
Oh ! perfect world of lasting bliss ; 
There, I shall find, the peace of mind — 
The jewel, I have lost, in this! 





FINIS, 



J live coal, on the altar, glowing, 
When the sacrifice is done ; 
A dim lamp, in the temple, showing, 
Though priest, and throng are gone ; 
One green tree, in the desert growing. 
Compassed by burning sands ; 
One fresh flower, mid the wide waste blowing, 
Unspoiled by Vandal hands ; 

A bird sings, on the dry bough, lonely, 

Where once the greenwood rang ; 

A brook flows thro' the parched land, only, 

Where once a thousand sang; 

One star its feeble ray is throwing. 

On the vast front of Night — 

That, like shorn Samson, blindly bowing. 

Bewails the loss of light! 

Thy love — as each sole joy — is holy; 
My friend, so true, and strong ! 
My life draws near its end, so lowly ; 
I shall not need for kindness, long. 
Thou wilt not leave me? Faithful, stay! 
Press my pale lips, when death is past ; 
Close my sad eyes — and humbly pray: 
That, I may sleep in peace — at last ! 

69 




TO GESSIE. 



^ear dog ! The light of thy large eyes- 
Dark, as the Peries ' are in Paradise — 
A spring of living love reveals, 
That coldness, nor deceit congeals ; 
More grateful to the world-worn man. 
Than, to the weary caravan. 
The cooling touch— the elixir taste, 
Of fountain pure, mid desert waste. 

Often in thought, I gaze on thee. 
My errant fancy wanders free — 
Hath some magician's wicked spell. 
Given thee this shape, we know so well ? 
Art thou a captive Moslem maid. 
That from the cool kiosk is staid ? 
For thee, doth Persian Caliph mourn. 
And daily weep for thy return? 
70 




^'"••^Cf.,,,^ 



GESSIE 



TO GESSIE. 71 

Or, the proud Sultan's marble halls, 

Thy constant memory recalls? 

Dost miss thy tambourine, and lute — 

Which, now, at eventide, are mut j ? 

Dost think, with pain, thy lord may prove, 

Unfaithful to his absent love ? 

Or, dream of rivals of the past. 

And curse the chains that bind thee fast! 

Would God — I held, with cunning hand, 
The subtle Sorcerer's wizard wand ! 
Then, would I break the spell accurst. 
And, all his hellish toils, would burst — 
Thee, to thy home, I would restore ; 
Lovely and happy, as of yore — 
Beauteous and blest, as e'er before — 
Though, I should see thee, never more ! 

No more ? Come, darling, to my heart ! 
At that sad word, the tear-drops start- 
Dear little Pet ! we will not part , 
I prize thee more just as thou art, 
Full well I know, speechless affection. 
Is genuine canine — on reflection ; 
I throw those idle fancies, to the wind — 
Such folly is not worthy of the mind. 

My Beautiful ! Thy small head tosses. 
So gracefully, its snowy flosses; 
Long-haired, and fine thy spotless coat, 
As silky fleece of Thibet goat. 
Through the dead watches of the night, 
I heartily breathing, low and light; 
Far prettier thou, than female form — 
Thy dainty person, plump and warm ! 



72 



TO GESSIE. 



Sole comfort of a lonely life! 
(For I have neither child, nor wife — ) 
Nothing thy loss could e'er atone; 
Without thee, I would be alone! 
Such silent love is super-human ; 
And never, yet, was found in Woman: 
From Simian stock, she may be sprung- 
But well she knows to use her tongue ! 

The look of thy sweet eyes revealing. 
Less intellect — but, far more feeling : 
Love not, as she does — one brief day — 
Then, careless cast my heart away I 
I need thee, till my life is done ; 
Abide with me, each season — 
Thou hast sure Instinct, gentle one — 
While I have only — ReasonX 



*-^:«;^»o 




='^5.s^v 



-t-^t^*" 




c*^5*f-.- 



10 VENERIS/ 



weet lute ! I tune thy trembling strings, 
While pensively I watch my Star — 
Dear Venus ! that to Woman brings, 
Thoughts of the loved one, when afar: 
The memory of his long, last kiss; 
Of all his fond — his farewell words — 
The bosom s\yells with purest bliss. 
Which to thy sweetest tone accords. 



Now, let thy strains be gay, and light ; 
In ecstasy thy measures move — 
Thus, we will charm the silent Night, 
With paeans to Triumphant Love ! 
Enchanted by my silver lute, 
The wooing West-wind gently blows ; 
The amorous nightingale is mute ; 
Her incense breathes the ravished rose ! 

73 



74 lO VENERIS. 

Happy was the eventful morn, 
When, radiant as the rising Day — 
From laughing waves, a Queen was born, 
To rule, with universal sway ! 
White, as the sea-foam, heaves Her breast; 
Bright, as the sunshine, floats Her hair : 
The Beautiful ! with cestus drest — 
Which mortal wearing, seems most fair ! 

Her blue eyes throw celestial rays. 
More dangerous than the Parthian darts ; 
Active, in wounds, the poison stays : 
The victims hold it to their hearts ! 
The ermine feels tumultuous throes ; 
The statesman, wise, resists in vain ; 
The doctor makes his diagnose, 
Smitten by the contagious pain ! 

To Her, infatuate Greybeard old. 
His homage pays — as youthful swain; 
The miser, too, forgets his gold. 
And very human grows, again ! 
At Her thronged shrine — glorious with scars, 
The bravest warrior comes, to kneel : 
The first defeat, in all his wars — 
Achilles, vulnerable — in his heel ! 

Fickle-;— like the inconstant main — 
Wary the mariner must be, 
Who hopes to make safe port, again. 
While sailing o'er such treacherous sea. 
A Halcyon day — the doomed one thinks, 
The Tropic breezes bringing balm — 
When, suddenly, the vessel sinks — 
Engulfed, amid deceitful calm ! 



lO VENERIS. 75 

Wild, as the billows tempest -tost, 
The passions rage, where She inspires ; 
Full many a gallant ship is lost, 
Consumed by its own fatal fires ! 
And, sanguine sailors, not a few — 
In after years, are found, 
Bleached skeletons — a ghastly crew ! 
By Artie icebergs, bound. 

No look-out, on main mast, he keeps; 
No compass, and no chart, has he ; 
At idle wheel, the pilot sleeps — 
Dreaming of haven — he ne'er shall see! 
The Ocean-Born bids angry Cyclone rise — 
The fragile bark, a shapeless wreck, is thrown ; 
Hurled to the black — the thunder-bellowing 

skies — 
Then, into Maelstrom's lowest hell, drawn 

down ! 

lo Triinnphe ! Goddess most divine ! 
Astarte — Anadyomene — Aphrodite — 
All seasons — ages — climes, are Thine, 
To dower with madness — or, delig-ht ! 
White doves shall waft Thy perfumed, gilded 

car — 
lo Veneris! while mankind has breath — 
Thou, The Golden Apple hast won — Thou 

Star! 
lo 'Veneris! Love sJiall conquer — Deatli! 




A VE MARIA. 



•>-^t^f^itS~i- 



, ve Maria ! Gentle — wise — and fair — 

Oh ! Hear thy artless votary's fervent prayer — 
A mortal, yet, to thee arch-angel came : 
Glad tidings of The Christ-Child, to proclaim. 
Before him, self-confessed, immaculate Maid! 
With meekest dignity, thy modest mind was 

staid ; 
Beauteous Betrothed ! not yet the just man's 

bride — 
The Father's will was well — whatever should 

betide ! 



Ave Maria ! Chaste, as the ice that gleams, 
In Polar lands, beneath the moon's cold 

beams — 
Thy purest womb, an infant God hath blest ; 
And Deity hath lipped thy snow-white breast; 
Thou hast led the Lord, His first slow steps 

to take ; 
And taught by thee, the King of Glory, 

spake ; 
Hushed, in thy loving arms, young Jesus 

slept; 
Consoled by thee, the Son of Man hath wept ! 

Isote : The Author is, by education, a Protestant. 



76 



AVE MARIA. 



77 



Ave Maria! Thy feet have trembling trod, 
To Calvary — to see a murdered God ! 
Ah ! Mater Dolorosa — Thy Son slain, 
A sword hath pierced, thy bleeding heart, in 

twain ! 
But, the heavy stone, from the tomb, was 

rolled away- 
The spotless cerements, too, together lay — 
With holy joy, thou hast beheld Him risen : 
Conqueror of Death — of Hell — of Prison ! 

Ave Maria ! Shines the vesper-star, 
On a sad world — its tender rays afar, 
Guide the tossed mariner o'er stormy seas; 
Give hope to him ; and, to his thought, bring 

ease — 
Driven by tempest, over Life's dark brine, 
I lift my eyes. Madonna ! to thy shrine — 
Woman — thou knowest the pangs of woe, I 

feel- 
Exalted Saint — pray for me, as I kneel ! 

Ave Maria / To altar bright, I bring 

Thy virgin lillies — while the children sing: 

Ave Piirissinia / Ave Doinina Angclonan ! 

Ave Dnlcissinia ! Ave Sanctissima, in sanctum 
sanctonnn / 

Thou — to whom highest honors, on earth, 
were given. 

Peerless, dost reign forever, Queen of Heaven. 

Sweet Mother! Thy sorrows the martyr- 
crown have won — 

Dearest, still, thou art, to thy God — Thy Son ! 




PACE. 



•»-^*j^»=^5<^- 



j^^ons of my native soil' — 

North — South — or, East ; or, West- 
After War's horrid toil, 
Sleep well — God give you rest! 
Where e'er you honored lie, 
Beneath the broad, blue sky. 



Your sires uprose with mine, 

The Tyrant's yoke to break ; 

Their names on Freedom's shrine. 

To latest ages speak — 

Lord love the land, they bled to save; 

Land of the true — the strong — the brave ! 



78 




PACE. 79 

Oh ! gallant lads in Grey — 

Oh ! noble boys in Blue — 

On this most holy day, 

Heaven sheds soft tears for you ; 

In gentle drops of Summer rain — 

For Nature, too, knows tender pain. 

Loved South — let flowers cling, 
Thy patriot-tombs, around ! 
Dear North — bright blossoms bring, 
To strew o'er hallowed ground! 
Both battled for a sacred right ; 
Fame's fadeless scroll shall tell: 
How valiant men, with Titan might, 
As heroes strove — and fell ! 

Then calmly rest, and sleep, 
On hillside, or, in dell — 
Your memory green, all nations keep : 
You have fought long, and well ; 
To-day, we pray for your repose, 
Under the laurel, and the rose — 
God bless the land, you died to save ! 
Good angels guard the Soldier's grave ! 
Philadelphia, 

May 30th, 1883. 



&^i^^ 



t-^*^ 




*^5«f-c. 



INCOGNITA. 



!^he church was old, and grey, and dim; 
The air, all tremulous with even-hymn ; 
Religiously the organ rang — 
And piously the choir-boys sang — 
Till the tones of music mounted higher, 
Than pointed top of lofty spire : 
So zealously they chanted, thus, 
King David's Dixi^ Dominits ! 

While thro ' the ancient minster dim, 
Rolled waves of vibrant vesper-hymn— 
Sonorous billows, deep and loud ; 
A pearly mist — an odorous cloud, 
From burning incense floated there, 
And rose above the altar, where. 
It veiled from view of Stoic man. 
The suffering face of Christ, so wan ! 
80 




INCOGNITA. iSl 

Then, in cathedral so devoutly dim, 
Listening intent to triumph Latin hymn — 
The Poet, near the chancel-rail. 
Stood mute, and calm, and statue-pale. 
Entranced, and lost to earth, was he, 
Steeped in some pleasing reverie — 
As the prophet, in the picture, seems, 
Wrapt wholly in his mystic dreams ! 

When in the church the dying day grew dim. 
And stilled was throbbing of the vesper- 
hymn; 
The setting sun's last, languid rays. 
Showed to the Dreamer's startled eaze : 
Such beauty, as he ne'er had seen, 
A devotee of seventeen ; 
Moved by some holy, tender, deep feeling. 
The jewel-tears down her dark cheeks were 
stealing. 

A goddess ' temple, grew cathedral dim ; 
The air was winged by rosy cherubim — 
Oh ! what an angel face ; 
Oh ! what a childish grace ; 
Madonna, from a niche down stept. 
While twilight shadows farther crept — 
A virgin Venus — bright as day. 
And fairer than the flowers in May ! 

Soon, in the old church perfume dim, 

At Mass, and at the vesper-hymn. 

Incognita — exquisite bride ! 

Knelt faithful wife, by Poet's side. 

Ere long, as cushat dove in nest, 

A snow-white babe, slept on her breast : 



^=- 



% 



82 



INCOGNITA. 



The gift of love, so chaste, so true — 
This infant Muse, with eyes of blue ! 

What hast thou held, cathedral vaulted grim ? 
Alas ! for those that dearly loved him — 
Pure as a lily, broken from its stalk, 
He lay enshrined on sable catafalque — 
Oh ! Intellect, too Godlike e 'er to die, 
Thou dost gain wisdom far beyond our sky; 
Oh ! Voice, the sweetest e 'er to mortal given, 
Thou hast long led the seraph -songs, in 
Heaven ! 



— High rose the solemn requiem. 
As all our hearts did bleed for him ; 
The meek girl-widow low must bow, 
Her heart its first great grief to know — 
Torn, as the ivy, from the tall, young oak. 
When blighted by the lightning's fatal stroke ; 
Her robes of woe, from foot to raven crown, 
Like Dis' dark pall, o'er Proserpina thrown! 




VIA SEPULCHRL 



ay, Sister, do you sorrowing mark in me, 
The fatal change, that others startled see ? 
My face, that has so pale, and hollow grown, 
Last Spring, was round, and rosy, as your 

own; 
My eyes burn with a fierce, unwonted light — 
It is the fever feeds their fires, so bright ! 
The flowers you bring daily to deck my couch, 
Are quickly withered by my hot hand's touch ! 

All day in bed — I can no longer sit, 

At the wide window, where the swallows flit ; 

The merry birds ! I often envy them, 

That mount at will, or, swing on swaying 

stem. 
I like to see them teach their young to fly — 
Will they be fledged before the time I die ? 
Ere they shall build their little nests again, 
/will have wings — /will be free from pain! 

83 



f 



84 VIA SEPULCHRI. 

I cannot sleep at night, but silent lie, 

And full of wonder, watch the star-gemmed 

sky. 
Our mighty race knows but this globe, alone — 
And yet for ages long, those stellar orbs have 

shone. 
Maybe in worlds that roll so far away. 
Dwell blessed souls, that once had forms of 

clay; 
How happy they must be — serene, content, 
At rest ; or, on some mission holy, sent ! 

— Think you, Fidele, my careless spouse will 

come, 
To join the train, that bears my body home? 
Since he has left me, he will be loathe to own, 
This wreck of Woman, whence the breath is 

flown ; 
For beauty — frail, as butterfly's gay wing — 
Is all he prizes — ' tis a worthless thing ! 
A penitent, by bier, where I recline, 
Will he press his red lips, to marble lips of 

mine ? 

Aye ! surely he hath murdered me — 
Though none but God, the dagger-wound 

can see. 
When I am lowly laid, in earth's dark womb — 
Like royal Henry, at a-Becket's tomb. 
Torn, by the torture of remorseful throe — 
Will he fall down, and cry aloud, in woe : 
" Come back, dear saint, from robe and crown, 

in Heaven, 
And bid thy wretched slayer rest — forgiven?" 



VIA SEPULCHRI. 



85 



Sweet sister mine! When I this Hfe depart, 
Take the lamb left, to thy maternal heart. 
You have a nature just; and firm; and mild: 
You are meet guardian for an orphan child. 
Teach him the way our honest fathers trod : 
To serve his country; and to fear his God; 
To obey, and honor you, religiously — 
Sacred to keep my mournful memory ! 

Love's lamp lights e'en sepulchral shadows 

drear — 
Cling closer — dissolution draweth near. 
Though, in the darkness, I feel no alarms, 
Falling asleep in Fidele's tender arms. 
I do not fear the friend of mortals : Death, 
By you consoled ; sustained by vital faith ; 
Great is God's mercy — infinite is His power : 
Calmly I wait the inevitable hour ! 







i 



«-^»l;^ 




TO A ROSE. 



— Is there any moral shut within the bosom of the Rose. ? 

Tennj'son. 



j noor withered Rose ! in the heated chamber lying, 
Vh Crushed under tread of careless feet — 
f^ In your brief hfe, and in your fragrant dying^ 
Is shut a moral, sad and sweet. 

Pink Princess ! when in the garden growing, 
In silky robes of tender green — 
The flowers were silent homage showing ; 
Had you lived longer, you had been their 
Queen ! 

Yet, red carnation, loathing to surrender 
The palm of beauty, was consumed with grief; 
The lily grew still paler, at your splendor ; 
The dahlia hated you beyond belief! 



But, bul-bul, your devoted lover, 

Chanted your charms, smitten by mad unrest ; 

Brown bee forsook the scented thyme, and 

clover, 
In haste to hide him, in your velvet breast! 



86 




TO A ROSE. 



TO A ROSE. 87 

The zephyrs paid their fickle, fond addresses, 
Pressing light kisses on your blushing face; 
You yielded to their flattering, false caresses; 
You bowed among them, with an easy grace! 

As some most radiant Circassian lady, 
Sold to the Turk — a slave, in Eastern marts — 
When young Rose leaves her bowers safe, 

and shady, 
Her loveliness, ere long defiled, departs! 

— How blest, when dewy petals gently closing, 
Mid odorous braids of satin, ebon hair — 
Or, lulled by low-sung lute-songs, softly 

dozing, 
Rocked on a maiden's bosom, warm and fair ! 

Ah ! that, at parting, her small hand should 

give, 
To such a fate, the bonniest bloom that blows; 
Born of a regal race, the Rose should live. 
Longest on earth, of any plant that grows ! 

Cherished at midnight — spurned at dawn of 

day — 
Dead darling! tho' faded, yet so saintly sweet; 
Most innocent — most humble castaway — 
You bathe with perfume your destroyer's feet! 

Like Woman's, is your nature, faithful flower ! 
Neglected — broken — perishing, and wan — 
As helpless heart, crushed by the spoiler's 

power. 
You breathe but incense, to your murderer — 

Man ! 



THE SONG OF THE OAKS. 



m 

fj^reat oaks are we, primeval forest trees, 

iljll That have for centuries stood. 

Tossing our tall tops to the breeze — 

The Anaks of the wood. 

Once we were frail, as any fern, 

That bends, in reverence, at our feet ; 

But we have stalwart grown, and stern. 

Battling with blasts, with snow, and sleet 

Ah ! that those good old days are past. 

When through the bushy dell, 

The buxom woodnymphs flitted fast. 

And leaf-light footsteps fell ; 

As green-clad dryads rosy raced. 

And sported, full of glee — 

Till by some amorous satyr chased, 

Each maid resumed her tree. 

Music on zephyr-wings did move. 
Ceased not at eve, and with the dawn began; 
Peaceful, and full of joy, and love. 
Were reedy pipings of the jocund Pan. 
Men wore the skins of beasts, for coats ; 
As apes, could climb — ^as deer could run, and 

leap; 
Shepherds were lively, as their goats, 
' And innocent, as their sheep. 
88 



THE SONG OF THE OAKS. 89 

Here gnomes, and fairies romped and danced, 
With graceful zest, that did not tire ; 
While fauns, and centaurs stept,and pranced — 
To cadence of Apollo's lyre. 
Here the low laugh of elves was heard 
And shouts of merriment did ring- • 
But tritons mellow conchs preferred — 
Ondines, to tune the lute, and sing. 

The sylvan fount, the shady pool. 
Then mirrored images most fair, 
Where nereids, in mist-raiment cool. 
Combed out their long, bright hair. 
Now, those lithe forms are fled and gone, 
Scared hence by choppers' cursed strokes — 
Earth's Golden Age resplendent shone. 
When hamadryads dwelt in oaks ! 

A hundred years — and our grand grove 

became, 
The Druids' temple vast ; 
Here frequent rose the altar-flame, 
In superstitious past. 
Oft gleamed the sacrificial knife, 
And blood hath crimsoned this soft sod : 
As some sweet creature's harmless life, 
Was offered up — to please a God ! 

Dark, and ill-ominous the frown. 
Of priest, that awful silence broke — 
With robes oak-broidered ; acorn and mistle- 
toe crown. 
The heathen deities, propitious to invoke. 
Low bowed the throng as guilt-abashed, 
While the savory smoke ascended ; 



go THE SONG OF THE OAKS. 

But, loud the drums, and cymbals clashed, 
When the vile rites were ended ! 

— We mighty trees have tender hearts, 

And our glad youth renew. 

In every germ of life that starts — 

Each acorn, wet with dew ; 

And every sapling, as it grows. 

To manhood, by our side, 

We shelter, when the tempest blows. 

With a paternal pride. 

The wind-whipped ocean's angry roar ; 

The seafowl's shrillest cries ; 

The screams of eagles, as they soar. 

To zenith, through the skies ; 

The wolf 's bark, as he hungry prowls ; 

The surly growling of the bear ; 

The wierd, and wizard tones of owls ; 

The crow of distant chanticleer ; 

The gaudy redbirds' noisy calls ; 

The mock-birds song — the chattering jay : 

The anthem of the v/aterfalls, 

That restless rumble, night and day : 

We, solemn, and gigantic trees, 

Sway slow to such rude melodies ; 

We hear, and love such sounds as these — 

For they are Nature's harmonies. 

In every life that is well spent, 

There is no lack of beauty ; 

So, we stay here, and are content, 

Cheerful to do our duty. 

We bless God, for the shine, and showers ; 



THE SONG OF THE OAKS. 



91 



We thank Him, for the gentle dew ; 

The verdant grasses ; and the modest flowers ; 

And for our canopy — the ethereal blue ! 

We bless Him, when the Spring is near — 
Although we dread His fiery levin ; 
And every fibre thrills with fear. 
When thunder-bolts are hurled from heaven ! 
Unharmed, as many a year has fled, 
And many a ring, us girded round: 
Higher we hold the haughty head — 
Deeper our roots spread, underground ! 

Great oaks are we, primeval forest trees, 
That have for centuries stood. 
Tossing our tall tops to the breeze — 
The Anaks of the wood. 
We have grown stout, and strong, and tough, 
In warring with the wildest storms ; 
Yet, we may soon lie low enough — 
The victims of the worms ! 




m^^^^^ 



NON EST PAR VUM 

will not crush the slow, bhnd worm, 
That crawls in the garden-walk ; 
I will not break the graceful form, 
Of lily, from her slender stalk — 
So frail are both, my lightest blow, 
A death-wound, well might give ; 
But, could I cause the flower to grow- 
Or, bid the slain slug live ? 
Existence is as sweet to them, 
As my less narrow life, to me ; 
And to the august Eye, supreme. 
Each has a share of dignity. 




I will not touch the thrush's nest. 

Nor steal a single speckled gem — 

Faithful and fond, in her brown breast, 

The love she bears to them. 

I hear her tr^nng all day long — 

The hopeful, happy thing ! 

A tender, tuneful cradle-song. 

That she intends to sing. 

The heart, still bleeding for its own, 

Feels keen the pang of every other; 

Such grievous loss, as I have known, 

God spare the small bird-mother ! 



92 



m 



NON EST PARVUM. 93 

Things, that to feeble, mortal sense, 

As worthless trifles, mean appear — 

Not so, look to Omniscience, 

That seeth wise, and true, and clear. 

Vast is our Sun — ^yet is he small, 

To an unlearned decision ; 

Man cannot guess his size, at all, 

V/ith weak, unaided vision. 

That trembling spark of ruddy light, 

Which shows minute among the stars, 

Is large — opaque — an orb of night : 

The Magi call the planet — Mars ! 

We see — and yet we do not see; 
Our knowledge is but crude — 
Can pigmy creatures, such as we, 
Judge moral magnitude? 
What e 'er was worthy of God's Hand, 
We should devoutly prize — 
The least that creeps upon the land ; 
That swims the seas — or, skies; 
The Vital Flame, in clay-lamps, dimly burning, 
Dies not — it can but re-ascend, 
To Deity, again returning: 
The First Great Cause — and The All-perfect 
End! 





«^5<f-*- 



THE SECRET. 



^^ 



•>-^'5s^^5*f-<' 



ff'i^r '^^^oman can keep a secret" — 
2M I have often heard, and read ; 
e^ There was one, once — but I regret, 
To state : that she is dead ! 



She pondered o 'er it long, and well, 
Till she, at last, must needs — 
So anxious she was the matter to tell- 
Confide it to the weeds ! 




The secret Midas ' wife, with fears, 
Whispered the reeds, and grasses, 
Was : that, her lord had as long ears, 
As any of the other asses ! 



94 



-^ 




p.i^5«^-/ 



•'-^:*t^- 



INFELIX. 

ard is my fortune — tho' ample is my wealth ; 
And life is bitter — tho' robust is my health ; 
I have kind kindred — yet I dwell alone; 
Good neighbors have I — but I welcome none. 
The world is empty — for one I loved, in 

youth, 
Went back to God, in innocence, and truth ; 
My heart is broken — that I die not, too. 
And sleep by her, below the churchyard yew! 

It is a sunny, sultry Summer day ; 

My men and maids are busy, making hay ; 

Early I take my wonted walk afield, 

To see the harvest my broad meadows yield. 

The dewy diamonds sparkle in the grass, 

Which Sinbad's famous jewels far surpass ; 

The partridge rises from the ripening wheat, 

Where she has hid her snug nest, warm and 

neat ; 
Poor thing ! she recks not, it may rifled be, 
Ere she tastes the joys of full maternity. 
Far as the eye can reach, before — behind. 
The tall corn-stalks toss tassels to the wind ; 
In long, strait lines they stand, lifting their 

heads to light — 
Like warriors, in green uniform, with airy 

plumes bedight. 

95 



96 INFELIX. 

The buck-wheat is all resonant with bees, 

That come, and go, and never rest at ease ; 

More provident than idler, stronger man — 

They store their luscious food, with geomet- 
ric plan. 

The patient sheep are browsing on the hill ; 

The cud-chewing cows are dozing in the rill ; 

The tired herdsmen rest 'neath the wide 
beech trees, 

With head and bosom bared, to catch the 
grateful breeze ; 

The faithful collies patrol round the well-fed 
herd. 

As if the ravenous wolf, both day, and night 
they feared ; 

The horses neigh with pleasure, when they 
see. 

The " Master" coming — for they all know me. 

Dear creatures ! to you my salted hand 
extends, 

Come lick me — horse and dog, are truly 
man's best friends. 

At last, I gain the goal of solitary way. 

And scent on morning airs, the fragrant new- 
mown hay, 

I hear the merry laborers, as contently they 
sing, 

The birds rejoice with them — aye ! every 
living thing. 

Amid this scene of joy, I move unblest, alone, 

With my dead heart as heavy as monumen- 
tal stone . 

The poorest peasant toiling on my fertile 
farms, 



INFELIX. 



97 



Clasps some beloved object, at eve, in his 

brown arms — 
What pleasure then can be, my wordly goods, 

to me — 
Childless, and wifeless recluse, rich — but in 

misery ? 

The torrid heat begins to fiercely scorch — 
Now noon is near — I seek again my porch ; 
There, between high, white pillars, lightly 

hung, 
My hammock-bed, of linen grey, is swung — 
By wires invisible, but strong, it is suspended, 
From lofty, sculptured arch, it is depended : 
So, as Mahomet's coffin, it doth well appear. 
To hang twixt heaven and earth, in the mid air. 
Oh ! can my reason trust to dazzled sight — 
Am I but blinded by the glare of sudden light ? 
In my broad swing, who is so calmly sleeping? 
What Beautiful is here, so kindly keeping. 
The watch and ward, while I am gone away, 
To view my fields, this sultry Summer day? 
It may be some young, wandering gentle- 
woman — 
Not so ! her loveliness is more than human : 
Her shining hair falls to her perfect feet ; 
Her pearl - pale hands fold on her bosom 

sweet ; 
Being like this, was ne'er of Passion born — 
Nor, raiment such, by mortal ever worn ! 
Nearer I come, and by the Sleeper stand — 
She holds strange flowers, in her waxen hand ; 
No where on our dark orb, these blossoms 

bright, 
Uplift their looks, for sordid man's delight ; 



98 INFELIX. 

How vivid gold, the bells — how azure blue ; 
How blood-red crimson petals-what unknown 

purple hue ! 
"Are these" I murmur "plucked from planet 

far — 
From blessed gardens of some happy star ? " 
Religiously, I kiss the sacred hammock's 

hem — 
I kneel to raise a white rose, fallen from off its 

stem ; 
Tearful I gaze on the radiant, doubtful vision. 
Whose presence makes, e'en my dark home, 

Elysian. 
Rising at last, I speak unwise, aloud : 
"She has mistook for misty, floating cloud. 
My wide — my wonder-cradle hammock grey. 
Wherein she lies, at noon, this Summer day. 
Who is this lonely, languid, lovely maiden, 
That now rests here, so weary, slumber-laden?" 
Nature was silent, as if in dumb surprise, 
To witness visitor, in such unusual guise ; 
Save, that the West Wind answers, soft with 

sighs : 
" It is a Spirit strayed from Paradise — 
This lovely, lonely, languid maiden : 
An angel-exile, dreaming, of lost Aiden ! " 
" Good Lord ! " I cry — " if this be true — 
Her hair is golden — are her veiled eyes blue ? 
After an absence hopeless, long, and dreary — 
Tell me, sweet Saint, art thou my darling 

Mary? 
The flowers awake — they tremble as they 

stir — 
Emitting rarest odors, as they breathe to 

whisper her; 



m 



INFELIX. 



99 



Gently she lifts the ivory lids of eyes, 
Whose clear deeps mirror other, cloudless 

skies ; 
Slowly she rises ; with ethereal grace, 
Poises on wings; upturns to Heaven her 

face — 
Then, with transparent virgin robes unfurled, 
To me, my house leaves desolate — to me, my 

empty world! 

— The evening shadows now fall fast ; 

I muse upon the Marvel past ; 

Again, my life is sad bereft — 

One little flower is all that's left; 

Within my Mother's well-worn Bible prest, 

To mind me always of celestial Guest : 

It marks the word the Holy Scripture saith, 

To comfort those, like David, robbed by death : 

" Tho' he may not return to me, yet I may go 

to him " — 
So, I hope to meet my Mary pure, among 

God's seraphim ! 



^^^ 




^■^^ 



M 




IN VINO, 



^a ye ! luscious fruit of the Autumn vine, 
Your mellowed blood is good — 
And he that has plenty of rare, old wine. 
Will want but little for food ! 

When Anacreon choked on a grape — 
(If the chronicle do not lie — ) 

He met Death in the most agreeable shape. 
Recorded in history ! 



Then, of the Earl of Clarence, we read. 
In a butt of Malmsey thrown ; 

A sot in life — ' twas a righteous meed, 
In his favorite drink, to drown 1 
lOO 



IN VINO. 



lOI 



The wine that oft had got in his head, 

His Highness' brains to all fuddle — 

Deserved to be invaded, instead, 

And stirred, by that head, to a muddle ! 

Aye ! luscious fruit of the Autumn vine, 
Your mellowed blood is good — 

And he that has plenty of rare, old wine, 
Will want but little for food! 

Pray let me a fill of Falernian have. 

As long as I draw breath ; 
And plant The Vine above my grave — 

A monument in death ! 

Oh! heavy laden branches stoop. 

That on my gold hair, your green 
wreaths may rest — 
Oh ! royal purple clusters droop. 

To meet the fruit, that ripens on my 
breast ! 

Fresh tendrils round my taper-fingers twine ; 
Ambrosial drops shed on my love-full 
lips; 
Your ruddy life be all transfused in mine. 
Till Memory deep, in dreamless Lethe, dips I 





CLYTIE. 



THE LADY. 



, h ! constant Clytie, tell me : 

Why your face turns to the Sun — 
From the hour of his rising, 
Till his daily course is run ? 
Why do yon thus, waste worship. 
On that bright, solar star — 
That knows not of your being; 
So great he is — and far ? 



THE FLOWER. 

Sweet lady ! the only reason. 
That I may give to you — 
Is a Woman's cogent logic : 
/ love him — because I do! 
1 02 



CLYTIE. lO- 



THE LADY, 



But, fond, infatuate flower! 
The bee, in your heart would house ; 
Or, the dapper, brown, young nightingale, 
Would make a charming spouse! 
Instead then, of always sighing, 
For the god, who is full of pride — 
Turn your thoughts unto your equals, 
That nearer your home abide ! 

THE FLOWER. 

Oh ! know you not, fair lady! 

What every other flower knows : 

That, since the first morn in Eden, 

The nightingale has loved the rose ? 

The bee is thrifty, and steady, 

He has a fine figure, beside — 

But tho ' he kiss each quean in the garden, 

The chaste lily's his chosen bride ! 

THE LADY. 

Gold Clytie ! you are tall, and handsome — 
But I fear your mind is wrong : 
To adore the inaccessible, 
So madly, and so long! 

THE FLOWER. 

Dear lady ! the Sun only is worthy, 

Of Creation's idolatry — 

I would rather have his scorning. 

Than beloved, by another, to be! 

So, I watch his face forever; 

Tho ' he, now, wears a haughty frown. 

Some day, in the radiant future. 

My god, on me, may tenderly look down ! 




IN DREAMS. 



•»-^!^;^6*^5<?-* 



do the dear Departed visit me. 

In visions of the night ; 

Their faces radiant with feHcity — 

Their garments gilt with light. 

Soft as the sighing of ^olean lyre, 

When thro ' its strings, the stealthy West wind 

goes, 
Voices, that swell, on high, the angelic quire, 
Breathe lullaby to soothe me to repose ! 






He that, on earth, was author of my life, 
Yet yearns for me, in his exalted state — 
Ah ! had he lived to shield me, mid the strife, 
From venomed arrows of malignant Fate. 
Brightest and best, of all his goodly race, 
Long since his blest dust mingled with the 
sod; 

I can recall, alone, his pictured face — 
But well, in dreams, I know the stately Prince 
of God! 
104 



IN DREAMS, 105 

The Seraph comes, his lonely child to bless — 
Baptized with tears, and consecrate by vow — 
My weary form, to his great heart, to press ; 
To close the aching eyes ; and cool the burn- 
ing brow. 
To teach me, here, how I may nobly live — 
To show the snares, that thick beset my way ; 
Fresh faith — new courage, and new hope, to 

give— 
A panoply, to fit me for the fray ! 

Sweet Saint ! how frequent she has left, 
Those fields of fadeless flowers above. 
To clasp the little one, bereft 
So young, of her maternal love. 
The joys of Aiden, even, cannot wean. 
From the frail offspring of her mortal womb, 
That pensive Spirit, chaste — devout — serene ; 
Eternal tie, that binds beyond the tomb ! 

My Angel prays — I am a babe again ; 
She kisses me — and I forget to weep ; 
On her fond breast, I feel, no longer, pain ; 
She whispers me — and I smile in my sleep! 
She sings — the hosts of Heaven, in rapture, 

lean. 
O'er pearly walls, her Evening hymn to hear — 
When she is flown, where she has lately been, 
A cloud of incense floats, from unseen altar 

near! 




THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD. 

,wake! my pretty bird, and sing for me — 
\ The night is long in lone captivity ; 

I love to hear your voice, at the dawning of 

the day. 
And now the sun has risen — up ! pipe the 
reveille — 

Come ! tune that silver flute — your small sweet 
throat, 

And let the rills and twills of melody out- 
float— 

Your wildwood warbling, my dark spirit fills 
with joy ; 

Fell Nemesis then slumbers — again, I am a 
boy! 




Harmonious sounds man's deepest woes as- 
suage ; 

Charm deadly serpents — soothe the tiger's 
rage; 

Such Music's mission — Minister divine! 

To calm — to comfort — to elevate, and refine! 
1 06 



THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD. 10/ 

Brave bird ! that sings well, whether storm, 

or, shine — 
Would God, I had a heart as light as thine ! 
But, could you carol, still, gaily, as you do, 
If you knew you were "a prisoner for life," 

here, too? 

You have more tunes than the weary month 

has days; 
And the chord of Hope thrills always thro ' 

your lays ; 
The keeper is a man austere, and cold, and 

rude — 
And yet, he smiles to hear you — Soul of the 

Solitude! 

And the jailer's child delights daily to bring. 
For you, pure water from the mountain spring ; 
Fresh plantain leaves ; and nice green chick- 
weeds ; 
With rape, and hemp, and tiny millet seeds. 

Darling! when you have done your matin 
roundelay. 

You shall have a sumptuous feast, enough to 
last all day: 

Strawberries nectared over with early morn- 
ing dew; 

Currants ; and cake ; and apple ; and red, ripe 
cherries too. 

Heaven bless her! with her honest, earnest 

face — 
The Warden's little daughter — bonnie Grace ! 
She has a nature warm, and good, and true ; 



I08 THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD. 

With eyes serene, and saintly — as the cloud- 
less ether, blue ! 

Her tender infant mind, in me, doth full con- 
fide: 

Often she comes to see me, and sits here, by 
my side; 

All serious she listens — and answers back 
to me; 

Or, plays about the narrow cell, and laughs 
with guileless glee. 

.When I take her on my knee, her dainty 

head doth rest. 
So near my guilty secret — upon a murderer s 

breast — 
Well, whatever evil things around me may 

abide. 
This gentle angel loves me — "the bloody 

Regicide!" 

I wonder, if she understood, would she fly 

from me, too — 
With a horror of the name, of the deed, I 

dared to do ? 
And, my pet, if you, too, could be taught as 

much. 
Would you, also, fear me, and tremble at my 

touch ? 

So much of kind consoling, you harmless 

creatures give, 
I could not bear to lose you, and yet, to longer 

live ! 



f>^c; 



THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD. IO9 

Always alone to be — there is madness in the 

thought! 
And by these blameless little ones, repentance 

may be wrought 

Then, sing aloud, sweet bird! a merry morn- 
ing lay — 

Salute with notes of ecstasy the rosy virgin : 
Day! 

Your liquid sylvan pipings, the careless Past 
recalls : 

And you forget the cruel cage, and I — my 
prison-walls ! 

Sing of the things you loved when you were 

free ! 
Sing of those scenes dear to my mem.ory ! 
And as you chant of hillside — vale — and 

stream, 
Each place will pass familiar, as objects in a 

dream ! 

The ancient orchard trees, with red, and gold 

fruit hung, 
Unguarded by the Dragon, with fiery eyes, and 

tongue — 
The thymey beds in the garden — the grapes 

with purple bloom ; 
Parterres, all rich in roses ; pansies ; and yellow 

broom ! 

The marshy ground— the meadow — and the 

fallow field; 
The woody copses mellow, which juicy berries 

yield; 



im 



no THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD. 

The buckwheat blooming, that the busy bees 
o 'er hover ; 

The waving timothy spears, and honey-blos- 
somed clover! 

The wind that moves, with stealth, among the 

rustling reeds, 
Low whispering, like Midas' wife, a secret to 

the weeds — 
The river swiftly rushing, impatient to the sea; 
To gain importance, willing to lose its identity! 

The shady, cool savannahs, all gay with tropic 

bowers. 
Where the golden jessamine climbs — the 

scarlet woodbine flowers ; 
There the gaudy butterflies float, and joyous 

insects play; 
And the languid air is heavy with perfumes, 

night and day ! 

The forest dim and solemn, where magnolias 

rear the head. 
And spicy incense, far and near, from the 

waxen urns is shed ; 
Where the scaly alligator sleeps — the painted 

moccasins pass; 
And the spotted snake, glides noiseless, amid 

the lush, rank grass! 

The stately grove primeval, where the Spoiler, 

Man, comes not, 
With greed, and craft, and malice, to desecrate 

the spot; 



THE CAPTIVE TO HIS BIRD. 1 1 1 

Where the emerald, moist mosses are, by 

human foot, untrod — 
In that sanctuary sacred, to Nature, and her 

God! 

Sing of the spot that's hallowed, to every 

feathered breast: 
Where the parent-birds first taught you, a 

fledgling in the nest ; 
When you upturned, with wonder, your young 

eye, to the sky. 
And chirped; and fell; and fluttered— with 

wings too weak to fly ! 

Sing of your modest wooing — the hours of 

courtship sweet — 
And tell me of your fond mate, with figure 

plump and neat; 
Of soft connubial blisses— the nest in the 

hnden tree; 
And all your holiest memories, my bird, relate 

to me 1 

Yet, do not, dulcet mock-bird — much as I 

love your song. 
For your wee, brown companion, lament too 

deep, and long — 
Or, else, her loss in mourning— (the help-mate 

of your choice,) 
Of you, like grieving Echo, naught will be 

left, but — Voice ! 





*~^^t^"^S^S ■^^ ^B^^"^**f-* 



MY KING AND I. 



M ould that my haughty King and I, 
,lL Were on a Tropic island wrecked; 
J^ Our only roof, the bright blue sky, 
With fleecy cloudlets flecked! 

Our only labor, to prepare 
The fruity, frugal food — 
Without one other earthly care 
Life would, indeed, be good! 

We would not wish for fame, nor wealth; 
Nor Dejaniran robes of state ; 
With Nature — happiness — and health — 
What more could mankind ask of Fate ? 

Exiled to Eden of those Summer seas, 
His heart, at last, I would secure possess ; 
For faithful Woman never fails to please, 
Without a rival — in a wilderness ! 

I would find favor, even in /lis sight — 
No more a lowly mate, he would despise : 
Then, he would read the lofty Soul, aright. 
That looks abroad, from my large, liquid eyes ! 

112 



^' 



MY KING AND I. II3 

We 'd pluck the ripe pine-apple, from the tree ; 
And on the yellow orange, sup ; 
He'd peel bananas — mangoes — figs, for me; 
I 'd serve him, goat's milk, in a cocoanut cup ! 

He'd string the scarlet berries, for my neck — 
And far more fair would beam my bosom's 

snow ; 
With jasmines pure, our nuptial-bed, I 'd, 

deck; 
And twine white roses round the bridegroom's 

brow! 

We 'd wear cool dresses, made of palm-leaves 

green. 
And pin them with the locust-thorn : 
Nude Innocence, by all, save God, unseen, 
Would modest be — for we were naked born ! 

All day the birds would sing to us of love — 
Deep in those blissful bowers ; 
All night the kind stars, watch above, 
While we slept, mid the flowers ! 

We would not know when we were old : 
Love that's immortal, feareth not decay — 
My faded hair, to him, would still gleam gold ! 
His ebon locks, could ne 'er, to me, grow gray ! 

United, we would yield our latest breath — 
The years of each exceeding ten-times seven ; 
A gentle change — (we would not call it: 

Death^ 
From shaded Paradise — to sunbright Heaven ! 







THE TRYST. 



[Lull oft the Seasons have returned again : 

Chaste Winter, clad in spotless robes of snow i 
Spring's blossoms ; Summer's grateful rain ; 
And russet Fall, when purple presses flow. 
Oh ! many a time the ruddy sun has set ; 
The pale moon silvered o'er the sea — 
Since that calm eve, when last we met. 
Beneath the greenwood tree ! 



But yet he comes, when all the world's asleep, 
The old light sparkling in his eyes of blue — 
The tender tryst, for evermore to keep — 
My long-lost lover — tried and true ! 
The Christian Knight, that led to death, and 

fame, 
His brave battalions, thro' those direful wars — 
Unsullied, by even, a breath of shame, 
He wears, immortal still, the three gold stars ! 
114 



m 



THE TRYST, 



115 



He comes — he lays his hero-hand in mine — 
Hand that to Hymen's altar might have led ; 
His ardent looks, again, so brightly shine, 
I cannot think, that he, indeed, is dead ! 
Softly, once more, he plights his faith to me ; 
Presses warm kisses on my upturned face — 
While white-winged sentinels silently, 
Keep guard around the place ! 

Life does not seem so cheerless dark to me ; 

Nor, my great cross, so difficult to bear: 

Since Night oft brings consolingly, 

The One I love, so near. 

Dear Shade! thy heart sincere, yet, beats for 

me — 
Time ne'er his shadow o'er affection throws ; 
Ere long, united we again, shall be ; 
And Heaven's High Priest shall seal our vows! 



«-^!W;^ 




<«i^5tf^* 






TO A FLY. 

ail ! sole survivor of the Summer season — 
With subtle instinct, hast thou, also, reason : 
That thou dost live, and thrive, oh cunning 

Fly! 
Through the long Winter, when thy fellows 

die? 

Ambitious offspring from the tiniest of eggs — 
How droll to see thee, dusting off thy nimble 

legs ! 
Or, like a youthful dandy, smoothing thy 

glossy hair — 
On the table promenading, with a distingue air ! 

When courting in the sunshine — amorous 

Fly! 
Dost thou swear eternal constancy, and deeply 

sigh ? 
Perfidious one ! thou hast a hundred loves, at 

least — 
With the loose, polygamous morals of the 

East. 

What thinkest thou — oh philosophic Fly ! 

Of the great world, thou viewest with Argus- 
eye? 

I 'd like to know ; how large all objects look 
to thee ; 

And, what thy grave conclusions, from the 
premises may be ? 

One thing, thou hast determined in thy mind : 
To taste of every pleasure, thou canst find — 
Ii6 



TO A FLY, I 1 7 

But in hygiene, all House-Flies must be 

skilled ; 
For I never knew one, by excessive eating 

killed! 

I will not do thee hurt — oh harmless Fly ! 

Soon, in the course of nature, thou must die; 

Sit then, if it please thee, on the tepid window- 
pane. 

And happy, dream that Spring has come, 
again ! 

Or, walk head-downward, on my kitchen wall — 

It does not make me nervous — I know thou 
wilt not fall ! 

Eat out the sugar-bowl — ^and from the milk- 
jug sup; 

Steal off my plate ; and take tea from my cup! 

Thou hast thy work to do — to purify ; 

Tho' thoughtless people call thee: "dirty 

Fly ! " 
A dainty little scavenger, thou art, indeed ; 
And every place, of thy small services, has 

need. 

" The laborer is worthy of his hire : " 
So, help thyself, to all thy heart's desire ! 
Thou dost deposit no poison, on our meat ; 
Nor, can we miss the little thou dost eat ! 

I'm sure I saw the saucy creature wink — 
He knows that I am fond of him, I think ! 
Would God, all mankind was as good, and 

wise, 
As the industrious, amiable family of Flies ! " 



MISANTHROPOS. 
{Refusing the Floral Crown awarded him^ 



irown me with withered leaves — dead leaves! 
" Bring me no chaplets gay — 
S^i All gathered are the harvest -sheaves ; 
I will have naught to do with May ! 

Bleak blows the dread Autumnal blast : 
The bare, brown trees shake in the wind ; 
Memory — a chill mist from the Past, 
Dims, and benumbs the mind ! 

The sapless bough can never more grow 

green; 
And sluggishly my languid life-blood flows — 
It maddens me to think what I have been! 
And with the opening scene, compare the 

close ! 

I was a dashing gallant in my time ; 
I have hob-nobbed it with the best ; 
And, with my flatteries — my tender ryhme, 
I lit Love's flame, in many a woman's breast 
ii8 



MISANTHROPOS. 1 1 9 

I was an orator — an actor in my day, 

That moved the throng to laughter, and to 

tears ; 
I taught the youth of Greece to sing — to 

play- 
To win the Olympic games, for three-score 

years. 

True, you may say ; I had my way ; 
I drank my fill of every pleasure — 
But now I find, at this late day : 
The lees are bitter, in the measure ! 

If every man is maker of his fate — 

Then he should be contented with his own ; 

And, if my latter years be desolate : 

I do but reap that, I have reckless sown ! 

I do not care for youth, and pretty looks — 
I will not weep that Friendship, too, is gone ; 
What comfort is it, that men praise my 

books — 
Yet, leave me here, in age — in want — alone ? 

I will not wear their laurel wreath — 
Nor yet the gaudy crown of roses ; 
For fame is but the world's vile breath — 
And Poison, the fairest flower encloses ! 

Begone ! with blooms that silent speak of 

Spring — 
All beauty is hateful to my haggard eyes ; 
The human race — so hideous false a thing, 
I spit upon it ; and I— myself despise ! 



-;3^^ 




^fV^^ ^ ^ ^Hr'H r ^.^^^ FP^^^-^^-^ 



A FANCY. 



toung Stella is the Poet's only child — 
Sedate, yet playful — spirited, but mild ; 
5j^ Propitious planets shone upon her birth, 

And lit the babe's eyes with a twinkling 

mirth. 
My precious one — that ever has confided, 
Her mind to me, and never has been chided; 
Often I lay my hands upon her head. 
And pray : " God keep her when I 'm dead !" 
I tremble to think, that hopeless ; weary ; 

wan — 
She may be — victim to a tyrant man ; 
Better my little daughter were not fair. 
Than early wedded, to a life of care — 
I 'd rather see her, in her coffin, now. 
Than have her crucified by torture slow! 

The brief, bright Winter day was past. 
And twilight shades were falling fast; 
I left the fireside, and the open book. 
And near my Pet, a cozy chair, I took — 
She turned, and kissed me with a touching 
grace, 
1 20 




?i>j2.Ied iTiT-^is- FaiOiy Oxijeax 



— i-J—^-- 



' 3y^ ^^yi/n^cy^' 



A FANCY, 121 

And then resumed her reverie, and her place. 

I saw the pensive Soul, in her clear eyes, 

All big with feelings, I could but half surmise ; 

Her glad, true tones, the darkling silence, 
stirred, 

Like vesper-song of some sweet woodland 
bird: 

"Pray tell me, Mama," my earnest darling 
said — 

Her small pink face, against the window laid — 

" What makes the Western sky so flushed 
and red, 

After the dear, old Sun has gone to bed ; 

And, when I rise, too, at the early morn, 

The clouds, all crimson, where the Day is 
born ?" 

" To answer that, I must put on my study- 
cap," 

I said — and while I thought, I fell into a nap. 

An Apparition stood by me, in white — 

The words he uttered, I do truly write: 

" I am the Guardian of the little maid — 

Look calmly on me — do not be afraid ! 

While you secure for her, each earthly good, 

I feed her with imperishable food. 

Her high, broad brow is purer than the snow. 

On mountain-peaks, lit by the morning glow ; 

As sunbeams float, the tresses of her hair. 

And Aiden's light, is not more golden fair ! 

No flower that breathes above, its incense- 
sighs, 

More lovely is, that her soft, azure eyes ! 

The clouds move not with more ethereal 
grace ; 

And though, yet, a mortal — she wears an 
angel-face ! 



122 A FANCY. 

I, at her birth, most carefully attended, 
And from grim Death, the insatiate Foe, de- 
fended ; 
From infancy she has slept in my arms — 
I fan her gently, while I shield from harms ; 
With flaming sword, I keep all Hell, at bay — 
And, if she wakes, I teach her how to pray ! 
No Sprite was e 'er on holier mission bent. 
Than mine : to watch the innocent ! 
This good child hears such grave and wise 

converse, 
She thinks you know the secrets of the 

Universe ! 
I will impart such knowledge as is given, 
To us — Immortals coming here, from Heaven : 

"The Earth is drawing nearer unto God, 

That once her sacred soil, as pilgrim trod ; 

This sphere is, in her orbit, swinging nigh, 

The New Jerusalem, that's built on high. 

Mark me — this centiiiy shall not pass aivay, 

Ere breaks the blest Millenniiim Day — 

When wars, and crimes shall haply cease. 

The reign of Universal Peace! 

— Each morning, at the dawn of day, 

The errand-angels speed away : 

To counsel — comfort — and restrain — 

To heal — to combat Sin, again. 

When evening comes, fresh cohorts fly afar : 

To trim each night-lamp — light each silver 

star; 
To guard their charges, thro' the darkness 

drear. 
And let the Faithful feel, that God is near — 
Eternal vigilance, around His creatures keep, 



A FANCY. 123 

And brood above a helpless world, asleep ! 
Now — when the matin-messengers forth fly, 
The issuing Glory flushes your pale sky ; 
So when our evening altars brightly burn ; 
And all the Day-guards, triumphing return ■ 
And Watcher-angels swiftly, glad wing out, 
Creation's limits, well by night, to scout: 
Through the portals of pearl, that are wide 

open thrown. 
The Paradisal sheen, again, to Earth, streams 

down ! 
— Your lightest words she piously will re- 
gard- 
Speak simply thus, then, to our little Ward : 
' The rosy glow, that paints our arching skies, 
Does not, my love, from this dark orb, arise ; 
Earth's lofty dome reflects, both morn, and 

even. 
The Sacrificial Fires of Heaven!' " 

He ceased — noiseless as light, he moved apace, 

Bowed low, and kissed my Baby's blossom- 
face; 

With upheld hands, to the Great Power, ap- 
pealed; 

Then spread his wings above her, as she 
kneeled. 

That voice, that leading legions, louder than 
trump had rung, 

Now soft and sweet, as shepherd's mellow 
haut-boy, sung — 

Nature was mute — the enchanted airs breathed 
mild. 

To hear an Angel singing with a child ! 

Their cadences all perfect in accord — 






124 



A FANCY. 



But, oh ! with what new meaning in each 
word : 

" Glor}^ be to God on high, and on earth peace, 
good will towards men. 

We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship 
thee, we glorify thee, we give thanks to 
thee for thy great glory, O Lord God, 
heavenly King, God the Father Almighty. 

O Lord, the only begotten Son Jesus Christ ; 

O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, 
that takest away the sins of the world, 
have mercy upon us. Thou that takest 
away the sins of the world, have mercy 
upon us. Thou that takest away the sins 
of the world receive our prayer. Thou 
that sittest at the right hand of God the 
Father, have mercy upon us. 

For thou only art holy ; thou only art the 
Lord, thou only O Christ, with the Holy 
Ghost, art most high in the glory of God 
the Father. Amen." 



"^^^L^ 





MESALLIANCE. 

'ive me a life of liberty, and health, 

With nature's charms, that never fails to 

please ; 
The English Earl may keep his rank, and 

wealth ; 
His foggy isle, shut in by rainy seas ! 

Far from my father's gipsy-tent, 

And from the greenwood, where I loved to 

roam — 
My days are passed in dreary discontent. 
While my brow aches, with thoughts of home ! 

My shrewd sire has the passion of his race : 
For fleet, and handsome horses — 
And he gathers gold, from place to place. 
By betting on the courses. 

It was the first time, that we ever parted — 
He pressed me to his breast again — again ; 
His looks are rough — but he is tender-hearted ; 
His tears "fell fast, like Summer rain! 

I2S 



126 MESALLIANCE. 

My mother is the Zingari's wise Head — 
Well skilled in plants, and palmistry, is she ; 
The stars, too, she infallibly can read — 
Yet, saw not what the future held for me f 

Ill-starred were we — oh ! luckless was the day, 
And big with misery for both — 
When the gentleman fell sick, beside the way ; 
And while I nursed him, plighted me his 
troth. 

I am a Countess — and continually, 

The folks call me "my lady "—and "Your 

Grace ; " 
All splendid, too, with diamond jewelry; 
And costly robes of velvet — silk — and lace ! " 

This stately etiquette, my spirit wild, op- 
presses — 
Stared at by liveried lackeys, and tall grooms ; 
I hate the clumsy trains, to my court-dresses ; 
I cannot breathe well, in these heated rooms ! 

I'll go back to the glad, old life in France ; 
The merry days in sunny Spain — 
The graceful bolero to dance, 
And whirl my tambourine again ! 

While gay cachucas, my young brothers play, 
I'll keep time with my feet, and castanets — 
Free as a bird, and smiling all the way — 
With raven braids, and eyes as black as jets ! 

My father loves me still, I know : ' 
And his welcome warm will be ; 




MESALLIANCE. 



127 



Twill please my mother, when I show 
The gold, and gems, I bear with me ! 

To night when my lord is gone to the play, 
I will steal away from the hated house — 
I will travel by dark, and hide during the day, 
To elude pursuit of an angry spouse ; 

Let the fair Earl keep to his rank, and wealthy 
His well-bred life of idleness, and ease ; 
I will return to freedom — joy — and health ; 
To clement climes, beyond these rainy seas ! " 





REGRET. 

hat is it, that the sorrowing sea, 
Is sobbing to the echoing shore — 
That we hear it, even, mournfully. 
Above the raging tempest's roar ? 
What is the song of the surging sea — 
The monody of the murmuring main? 
This plaint it moans unceasingly : 
" The Past comes not again ! " 

What is it, that the wild wind shrieks ; 
What groans the heavy laboring gale — 
When the weird Storm-King his vengeance 

wreaks ; 
What the zephyr-sigh, that flaps the idle sail ? 
What does the solemn night-breeze say. 
That thro' the half-closed lattice flows ? 
A requiem-chant, it seems, alway : 
" The Past is gone " — it blows, 
128 



Sl£: 



REGRET. 



129 



Why is it, Music makes us weep ? 
Whence has the Voice its thriHing power ? 
Why do we love to sacred keep, 
A faded tress — a scentless flower ? 
A woman's glove — a baby's shoe ; or, to}- — 
The grey-grown sage will cherish to the last ; 
Each is the monument of some dead jo}- — 
Each frail link grapples hold the Past ! 

What is it, wrecks the lordly Mind ? 
Why do we die, heart-broken ? 
Has fortune only proved unkind ; 
Have farewell words been spoken ? 
The minor chord, in each sad soul is this : 
The light of other days no more is seen ; 
Earth — the great grave of buried bliss — 
Answers INIan's grief, for What Has Been ! 





*^<^ 



UN SOUPIR. 



Khoda shefa midehed — 

f Heaven gives relief . 1 



0^ 






1j hen tender lights above are burning, 
My thoughts — my suppliant sighs, 
With angel-messengers returning — 
Ascend to calm, blue skies. 

Beautiful Babe ! from thy blest star, 
That shines most pure, and bright — 
Some sacred rays float from afar, 
To guide my spirit right. 

Only may holy Sleep, for me. 
The prison-walls remove — 
Only in solemn dream.s, I see. 
The angel-face, I love ! 
130 



UN SOUPIR. 



131 



'Tis then, I hold thee on my breast, 
And soothe thy nursling cry; 
Softly I sing my child to rest, 
As in radiant nights gone by. 

Ah ! would such happiness might last ; 
Would life were one sweet vision — 
The joys that glorified the past, 
Might make e'en earth, Elysian! 

— Torn from the arms of kindly Sleep, 
By rude, relentless Day — 
I turn me, on my bed, and weep — 
To weep, thus, is — to pray! 

But, soon shall Freedom, come with Death- 
My wanderings all forgiven ; 
Some evening zephyr's gentle breath, 
Will waft my weary soul to Heaven ! 

Patient, under the chastening rod ; 
Nearer each night, I will move — 
I yield my Babe, to Thee, Father— God- 
To Thee — Oh! Eternal Love! 




^?'^5<^-^ 




BLIND. 



was not born thus : blind! 
In infancy fell Fate was kind ; 
That highest happiness to see, 
Was granted graciously to me. 
Well I can mind my mother's loving look, 
As in her arms, her little one, she took ; 
Ah ! tenderly she gazed down on me, 
Her soul illumed by full felicity ! 



While from those alabaster founts, blue-veined. 

Sweet sustenance, I eager drained — 

Her smiling face, ( a sunlit Heaven — ) o'er 

hung. 
Her babe, with bliss too deep for mortal 

tongue ! 
Oh ! those devoted — dark — dear eyes — 
From out the Past, like holy stars they rise ; 
To light the darkness of Life's Stygian stream, 
Like beams from Paradise, thrown on some 

damned dream ! 




132 



'>^i3 



BLIND. 133 

Tall was my sire, as Saul ; and coldly stern ; 
Proud ; and black-brpwed ; and taciturn ; 
Quick was his passion, and violent his word — 
At times, vexed by an evil spirit from the 

Lord; 
Then, fearfully his blue eyes lightning flashed, 
And long, and loud, his dreadful thunder 

crashed : 
Her lute, alone, could change his mood of 

madness. 
Her low, loved voice could banish that fierce 

sadness ! 

I was not born thus : blind ! 

Often I ponder it in my mind : 

It had been better, if it had been so, 

Sometimes I think — but yet, I do not know. 

Would I so long lament those opaque lenses, 

If I had ne'er known the use of all my senses ? 

Would it be torture to hear of woods, and 

meadows green. 
If the charms of Nature, I had never seen ? 

The memory of Eden lost, in Erebus, gives 

pain, 
Because, those blessed scenes, I may not view 

again ; 
How e'er it may be — it seems to me : 
It is loss of sight, that blights man, utterly; 
Music hath lost its flavor to my cloyed ear. 
And gives disgust, where once it gave good 

cheer ; 
Sad as the plaintive song-bird of the night — 
Those dulcet tones, that have thrilled with 

delight. 






1 34 BLIND. 

But, as for those that are, indeed, born bhnd : 
Descriptive terms raise pleasing images in the 

mind; 
Or, ugly ideas, their Imaginations see — 
Yet, not so hideous, as real visions often be. 
Not having known the glory of the light. 
They cannot feel this heavy pall of night : 
They do not bear the load of my great grief — 
Nor, in despair, beg Death, to bring relief! 

— The world is lovely now, that Spring has 

come again, 
With wayward smiles of sunshine, and wilful 

tears of rain. 
She calls the flowers forth — in field, and vale, 

and dell. 
They rise, with joy, to greet the steps they 

know so well ; 
Up to the heavens bright, and so divinely blue. 
They turn their laughing eyes, sparkling Avith 

drops of dew — 
They have the benison, denied to me — 
Good God be merciful — and let me see ! 

— ^The ancient oak, (his age marked in his 

rings—) 
His giant arms, about his partner flings ; 
While all the lusty, old elm trees. 
Are sighing tender, to the warm South breeze; 
With songs of love, the grove reverberates, 
Where feathered suitors woo their merry 

mates ; 
But, who alas ! will mate with vie — 
Ah ! who a blind man's bride will be ? 



BLIND. I 3 5 

— The curlew skims along the rocky shore, 
His shrill cry mingling with the ocean's roar ; 
The water-fowl down dips, to wet his iris 

plumes. 
Then rising refreshed, his laggard flight re- 
sumes ; 
The eagle soars up thro' unclouded skies, 
And boldly gazes, with his jewel-eyes — 
Oh ! King of birds ! well may I envy thee : 
E'en in a blaze of sunlight, thou canst see ! 

— When the raven. Night — spreads wide his 

wizard wings, 
And his shadow dusk, down on the wierd 

world flings: 
The wild beasts restless, rouse in leafy lairs, 
With horrid howls, they fright the tremulous 

airs; 
Seeing, in darkness, clearer than by day. 
With stealthy strides they seek the unwary 

prey- 
Better to be a brute, with his keen, amber-eyes, 
Than a blind, helpless thing, creation must 

despise ! 

— The Day, (a Clyclop huge — ) has but one 

eye; 
But, all enamored Earth; and Sea; and Sky; 
Grow quick with life, and panting with desire, 
When on them falls, that glance of solar fire ! 
The evening has a thousand starry-eyes, 
That modest peep thro' pearl grey, curtaining 

SK1C3 ; 

Like "Eastern maidens coy, yet willing to be 
won, 



136 



BLIND. 



By the crescent-crowned Sultan, Darkness — 
that slow is marching on ! 

— Like beautiful Endymion, wrapt in endless 

dreams, 
' Neath silver veil, wrought out of pale moon 

beams — 
The fair, young Earth shall smiling, sweetly 

sleep. 
While down the western slope, the glittering 

Gemini creep; 
While clad in skin of slain Nemean lion, 
With stout club, climbs, in his brilliant belt, 

Orion; 
While planets doomed, shall gloriously expire, 
With vast Empyrean vault, for their funereal 

pyre! 

All lights are reflex of those awful Eyes, 
That sleepless glow — the lonely Deity's. 
Great God-Head] Fountain of Pure Fire! 
How mean to Thee, appears my best desire ; 
Yet, Man was made majestic, after his Maker's 

form ; 
And Omnipotence is mindful of even a poor, 

blind worm; 
As Jesus of Nazareth — speak now, again, 

to me : 
" Ephphatha" — atid straiiway, I shall see ! 






jiMtifeaj 




.^/Ae^ i^jj^.i^ ■ ^^/^ 



THE BLIND GIRL. 



^;^ 



am the blind girl of Auxerre — 
My form is comely; my face is fair; 
I sing, while my father, on his viol plays ; 
And I sell my posies, on the market-days. 

I never saw my image, mirrored in a glass. 
But the winds salute me, courteous as they 

pass ; 
And the pensive pines, with pity, sigh o 'er me. 
Because I am pretty, and cannot see ! 

Each flower leans to me, on her slender stalk, 
When I go down the narrow garden-walk ; 
Dear Rose — andLily — and sweet Violet — 
To think I never have beheld you, yet ! 

They leave their honey-dew on my pouting 

lips; 
They lose their pollen on my fond finger-tips ; 
While they breathe the perfume of Paradise, 
On the ivory lids of my sealed, silent eyes ! 

For, I am Nature's favorite child — 
She always speaks to me soft, and mild ; 
The Mother keeps the closest to her breast, 
Her helpless offspring, that strangers would 
love least! 



I am poor, I know — but I do not fear ; 

I have health ; and enough to eat, and wear ; 

God gave me beauty, that the world would 

not despise. 
The Fiddler's daughter, with sightless eyes ! 

137 



i 



138 THE BLIND GIRL. 

The countn'-folks, \vherever I go by, 
Regard me with wide, admiring eye ; 
And pleasure mingles with surprise, 
As tliey cry : " What beautiful blind eyes ! " 

The townspeople too, draw near to me, 
To press palms warm with sympathy ; 
And many a friendly wish is told. 
To my small hand, in a coin of gold ! 

The lords, and ladies talk sweet to me, 
As they pat my pink cheeks tenderly ; 
I can read the hidden thought in the mind : 
" It is sad to see a young girl blind! 

By the parish-priest I was carefully taught ; 
\\"ith m\- fingers, I gather the gems of tliought. 
Those priceless pearls, that I may not see, 
Make a glorious crown of light, for me ! 

A low voice ever sings to me : 
The happy heart's glad melody ; 
Veiled from the world of strife, and sin, 
INIy cloister'd soul finds peace within ! 

ISIy dear ^Mother died, when I was seven — 
But I shall know her well — in Heaven ! 
And my good old Father, I shall see, at last, 
WTien our pilgrim-journey of life is past ! 

For the kind Padre says, oft-times to me : 
" Louise, in tlie light of God, you will see — 
Be patient ; these shadows shall soon flee 

awa\-, 
In the radiant dawn of Eternal Day ! " 




TO A DOVE. 



I beautiful bird, fly to my breast! 

Fold your wild wings, darling, to rest — 
^(4 You need not fear for rude alarms. 

Sheltered so safe in Leila's fond arms. 

The best of the birds — most gentle, and pure ; 
Beloved of mankind, while time shall endure ; 
White — as the fleecy clouds that float far 

above — 
With plumage like the seraphs, that thro' 

ether move. 

Not like the raven, gloomy and dark, 
Forsaking his savior — his friend in the Ark ; 
Soon you flew back, so faithful and true — 
Bearing the palm-branch of promise, with you. 

Oh ! innocent being — ^bird that is blest ; 
Descending at Jordan, on Jesus, to rest — 
A type of The Spirit — The Heavenly Dove, 
That woos man's stubborn nature, with love ! 

139 



140 TO A DOVE. 

Beauteous babe ! asleep on my breast, 
With white wings folded — an angel at rest — 
You need not dread danger, or harms, 
Cradled so soft, in Leila's warm arms ! 

I will protect you, for I am your friend. 
And all your wants, my fair hands will tend ; 
If cruel Grief poignard your heart, 
My bosom bleeds, stabbed by the same dart. 

Soft is your soul, as the down on your breast, 
And memory still constant, broods over the' 

nest; 
The days drag by dreary, for my dear Dove — 
So listless — so lonely, without her lost love ! 

Your cage is gay gilt — with red coral rings ; 
The cups are of silver; of ivory the swings; 
But you loathe to feed on choice prison-fare. 
You long for the woods — the boundless, blue 
air! 

All bondage is bitter — and not the less cold, 
Feel chains that are fashioned in links of fine 

gold; 
Ah ! what were the wealth of the Indies, when 

we 
Are fluttering, and panting to gain liberty ? 

The window is wide — the door is ajar — 
Now you may escape, to fly near, or, fly far ; 
But when you are happy, and when you are 

free — 
I pray you, my Precious, think sometimes of 

me! 



m 



TO A DOVE. 



141 



Oh ! will you return ? I know yon will come, 
To bring a memento to me, from my home — 
A twig from the tree, that shadows the door, 
Whose well-worn, smooth sill, my feet cross 
no more ! 

More dear than diamonds on an Emir's hand. 
One little green leaf from my native land : 
One tiny, tender flower-bell of blue. 
To tell of a love that is changeless, and true ! 

Your dreamy, dark eyes, look pleadingly in 

mine ; 
So guileless and meek, not thus you should 

pine ; 
I will kiss you again — I will let you depart, 
Tho' the loss of my Charmian breaks my sad 

heart ! 

Good-bye ! blissful bird — fly forth from my 

breast — 
Spread wide your wild wings, for your mate 

— for your nest; 
But, if any evil thing cause you alarms. 
Fly back, and be welcome, to Leila's fond 

arms! 



ff^reii 



^m 





*^5*f-/ 



TO MENTOR. 



[ature hath fashioned thee, ' tis plain, 
iT( Perfect in every other part ; 

Handsome in person, with a wondrous brain- 

Biit^ she forgot the heart! 

So anxious she became to show 
Her finest work of plastic art, 
That she left out, in haste, I trow — 
The most important part. 



THE SYMBOLS. 



^Jirail Ferns, that with the season come, and pass, 
3m Ye do remind me, that, "all flesh is grass :" 
^^ Man springs, and flourishes, and fades away — 
A brief existence is Life's little day. 

But fairy-light: — flower-bright Butterflies ! 
Ye bring me thoughts of that pure Paradise : 
Where, while eternal ages onward roll, 
In the blest sunshine floats Man's winged soul ! 
142 




THE POET AND PLUTUS. 

POET : 

o ! there Plutus — 

Yellow-bearded, blind Plutus ! 
I pray thee tell to us, 
What we need to be told : 
What good is Gold ? 

PLUTUS : 

Gold is good to have, 

From the cradle to the grave. 

POET : 

What good is gold ? 
Now, that I am old, 
Can gold regild, 
As the hair of a child — 
My faded flaxen hair, 
All bleached by care — 
Soon silvered bysorrow, and blanched by care, 
. My poor fine, flossy, fleecy hair ? 

143 



144 THE POET AND PLUTUS, 

Can riches return to me, 

My lost faith in humanity ? 

Can it recall the vows once spoken ? 

Can it heal this bleeding heart, now broken ? 

Hath lucre a blessed oil of balm, 

The surging sea of the soul, to calm ? 

Can it the sting, from the sleepless Scorpion, 

take — 
Or, the deathless thirst of the damned, slake? 

Will wealth win back again to me. 
Those violet-eyed wanderers thro' Immensity, 
That once hand in hand, and face to face, 
I clasped to my breast, in a close embrace ? 
Now, but their soft, uncertain, sea-sad sighs, 
From the coral caves of the restless ocean rise ; 
Or, else I track their passage through the 

heavens afar, 
In the arrowy flight of some swift-shooting 

star ; 
Or, only their white wings velvet whisperings, 
To my soul, in sleep, the night breeze brings ! 

PLUTUS : 

Yet are you blest, if your coffers hold 
Plenty of shekels of shining gold. 

POET : 

What good is gold ? 

To be bought and sold, 

By human harpies, that do prey, 

On their easy dupes, both night and day. 

Mankind with brains — ^but without soul, 

For whom no vile deed is too foul. 



V 

■^Z' 



THE POET AND P;,UTUS. I45 

If they, alas ! be but controll'd 
By the accursed lust for Gold I 
How the Devil laughs, 
As His Highness quaffs. 
Thro' his hearing and sight. 
The keenest delight — 
As he regards these ghouls, 
( With minds, and no souls — ) 
Worshipping thine, and thee. 
Oh ! mercenary, infernal deity ! 

PLUTUS : 

Gold hath its uses ; 

It hath, too, its abuses : 

To pay for harlots riotous feasts ; 

And excess of wine, that makes men lower 

than beasts ; 
To buy, for old age, the smiles of Beauty ; 
To warp the Statesman from patriot-dut}- ; 
To fill the o'er flowing gaming hells ; 
To tenant the crowded prison-cells ; 
To craze the head — the heart to break ; 
To ruin men — women to wreck ; 
Cunning — cruel — cold — 
Gold — gold — gold ! 

poet: 

Aye ! thou hast truly told. 
There is only evil in gold ! 

PLUTUS : 

Gold hath its abuses ; 

It hath, also, its good uses : 

To lift the fainting, famishing up ; 

And hold to the dying, the cordial cup ; 



146 THE POET AND PLUTUS. 

To the widow's home, to bring- good cheer ; 

And dry the orphan's bitter tear ; 

To strengthen the hands of the virtuous maid ; 

And win from Vice, the weak one, strayed ; 

To aid the poor, hard-laboring man ; 

And keep from want the scarred veteran ; 

To enlighten the world, that wars may cease, 

And the valleys resound with songs of peace. 

Thro ' I cannot ever give 

Those things you would receive ; 

This much, I surely can, 

Teach you, unhappy Man : 

* Tis not the abundance that yoii have, 

Can solace life ; or, cheer the gaping grave ; 

But, the wise tise of Gold, may even 

Make of your Eaiih, a tonporary Heaven/ 

poet: 
Not unto us, 

Oh ! purple-appareled Plutus — 
Thou hast confessed to us. 
That thou can'st not grant to us. 
The magnum bonum, that we crave, 
Tho' on the top of Wealth's top-most wave, 
To our hearts desire, 
We mount higher, and higher; 
Tho ' in rich Pactolus we have roll 'd 
Till every pore be stopped with sands of gold; 
\\^e may not find that peace, 
Nor gain that glad release, 
For which we sigh — 
For which we cry — 
Till our brows be bound with black-poppy 

leaves ; 
Till Death hath gathered us in his sear 

sheaves ; 



THE POET AND PLUTUS. 



147 



Till, like the water-lillies pale, we float 
Down the dark river, on slow funereal boat ; 
The Soul shall lose the sense of grief — 
The weary Spirit shall find relief, 
In the quiet of forgotten graves. 
Below lone Lethe's languid waves ! 

PLUTUS, {^retreating :^ 

Although I be blind, 

I can read the shallow mind ; 

My comprehension is somewhat sIoav, 

Yet this one truth full well I do know — 

On my sacred oath I will dare to aver : 

Evejy Poet is not a Philosopher! 





THE MONK. 



-^*^»<i^*«f* 



^n the dim cloister's quiet corridor, 
f Fra Claudio paces thoughtful, o 'er and o 'er, 
^ The tesselated marble pavement track, 

His head bowed down — his hands behind his 
back. 

He had not found, alas ! the peace he had 

sought. 
For within the walls, his human heart he had 

brought; 
He had not won the battle with the Flesh — 
And every hour the onslaught raged afresh 1 

148 



THE MONK. 149 

His furrowed brow bore not that calm felicity. 
Which in the imbecile ; or, the blessed blind 

we see ; 
His soul was sad, his mind was ill at ease. 
As the storm-vexed waves that wash the 

Hebrides. 

Like the mournful echoes that dark Hades 

hears, 
Where exiled spirits wail their pains, and 

fears — 
The darkening silence of the place he breaks, 
With sighs profound — in hollow tones he 

speaks : 

" Dead to the world — the same it now would 

be. 
If the valley-turf were growing green o 'er me ; 
No more, for me. Life's feverish affairs — 
No more, earth's joys ; nor any temporal 

cares ! 

" From the grey dawn, unto the dying of the 

day, 
I read in holy books ; I fast ; I chant ; I pray ; 
And, the noiseless night, that Nature hath 

given for sleep — 
Is passed in penances, while I, my vigils keep! 

" But still doth Satan cruelly beset 
My path with strong temptations, and oh! yet 
When I imagine I have vanquished Evil — 
Appears again, The World — The Flesh — The 
Devil ! 



150 THE MONK. 

" Where shall I fly to find a sure relief? 
Where can I hide my misery, and grief? 
In vain may wretched Man move on, from pole 

to pole — 
He bears the rankling poison ^ ever, in his own 

Soul ! 

" Dead to the world — dead, Dora, e 'en to 

thee — 
Yet ever more thy fair, fresh face I see ; 
It looks out at me, from each pink, young rose. 
And lily pale, that in the convent-garden 

grows ; 

"Thy blue eyes peep at me, from mid the 

meadow-grass. 
When thro ' the monastery-fields, to meditate, 

I pass; 
Thine eyes gaze downward, from the evening 

skies, 
What time the stars, like jewelled censers, rise ! 

" Thy voice speaks to me, from the trembling 
trees, 

And floats, like vesper-music, on the gentle 
breeze ; 

Thy light step cometh, when the dead leaf 
falls— 

Thy laughter ringeth, when a bird trills mad- 
rigals 1 

" In dreams I drain the nectar of thy honeyed 

kiss ; 
To my fond breast, I clasp thy form, athrill 

with bliss — 



THE MONK. 151 

The convent-bells, peal loudly in my ears, 
I rise reluctant, to resume my prayers ! 

" Good Lord ! that any sinless love should be, 
The source of such an endless agony — 
Why hast Thou, oh ! my Maker, thus made 

me ? 
To suffer on through all Eternity ? 

" Dead to the world — I do remember well 
The vows that consigned me to a consecrate 

Hell; 
Sworn to deceive — my life a living lie ; 
No hope — no comfort for me, but — to die ! 

" Sweet Mother of God ! do thou pity me — 
Weary, and worn ; and lost, at last, to be ; 
A ship-wrecked soul, tost helpless on each 

wave — 
Star of the sea — Madonna Maria, save ! 

" I will betake me to my lonely cell — 

And there, the rosary a hundred times I'll 

tell ; 
A tear — a drop of blood, for every bead, 
My eyes shall shed — my broken heart shall 

bleed ! 

" Before the Host, my body I will throw ; 
Before the Crucifix, I will most lowly bow : 
If I must perish now, oh ! let it be 
Below the cross, where The Savior died for me ! 

" Like good a Becket, taken unawares, 
Slain by the rude assassins, at his prayers — 



152 



THE MONK. 



Better before the blazing altar to depart, 
Stabbed by these murderous Sorrows, to the 
heart — 

" Than, to long linger, with some sore disease, 
And beg of Heaven, in vain, a kind release — 
A heavy burthen to my pious brothers, 
A curse to self — double a curse, to others ! 

" Who knows ? perhaps this very hour may 
see, 

The conquest gained — the dear-bought vic- 
tory ; 

Or, ere the veil of Night be lift from the 
sleeping hills,» 

My spirit may be free from all its earthly ills ! 



" Dead to the world — Amen ! so let it be — 

Nunc diniittis iit pace, Doniine ! 

Beyond the shadows of the tomb, my own 

Medora — 
Peccavi! Ora,pro nobis, Mater, oral 



m 



*-^t^if> 




Oi^ifS-* 



TO CLARISSE. 

|h! charming Clarisse, 
^ Before I be gone, 

Pray give me a kiss — 
Just one, darling ! one. 

The pert Httle bee, 
Thro ' the garden humming. 
With pain, I can see 
This way now is coming ; 

He sure hath mistook 
Thy red mouth for a flower, 
That the wind hath shook 
Loose from the treUis-bower. 



Ah ! maiden tall, and slim — 
I humbly beg of thee : 
Yield not thy sweets to him- 
Keep thy kisses all for me / 



153 




154 "^^ CLARISSE. 

Here, too, is the beau butterfly, 
Slow fanning himself, in the sun ; 
So vain of his gay wings gaudy dye, 
Tho ' his life, as a worm, was begun ; 

I know he will stop. 
Delighted to sip 
The clear nectar-drop 
From off thy pink lip. 

Oh ! virgin slender, and trim — 
Earnest I plead with thee : 
Grant not this good to him — 
Keep thy kisses all for vie ! 

As robin swings in the breeze, 
Thinking where to-day he shall dine — 
His quick eye sees thee, thro ' the trees, 
And his heart is snared — like mine ! 

He believes that strawberries grow 
On thy pure, budding breast ; 
And he longs to come below. 
On the fair fruit to feast ; 

To him thy ripe lips are, 
(With their rich, luscious hue — ) 
A lovely pair of cherries rare, 
So, he is enamoured, too ! 

Capricious woman, full of whim ! 
I do implore of thee : 
Give no dear privilege to him — 
Keep thy kisses all for vie ! 



TO CLARISSE. 



155 



When in the sky bright Phosphor glows, 
The nightingale from the near grove — 
Thinking thy face a new-blown rose, 
Will sing, to thee, his lay of love ; 

Such dulcet melodies as his. 
No soul could long resist; 
And he can steal a candied kiss — 
If Clarisse could be kiss't ! 

But, take not bul-bul to thy breast, 
To shield him from the ev^ening air ; 
Else, by mad jealousy distress't — 
And all distracted by despair — 

I slay each amatory rover. 
And luckless, last kill thee — 
That would not listen to thy lover, 
To keep thy kisses all for me ! 



,> 1 , 1 I HI.m. t TrTTTTTTTK .' 






.- IJ J < ' ■» 1 H 1 I t » . Tfffg 



"-^^t^a 




BY THE SEA. 



/ftf he midnight moon half hides her tender face, 
^■^ Like a timid bride, behind a cloud of lace ; 

All else the broad expanse of the heaven is 
blue. 

Where countless stars gleam constant, calm, 
and true. 

Afar, above the rugged rocks, and boulders, 

A mantle dark drapes Night's majestic shoul- 
ders ; 

But, from the zenith of the purple pure, upper 
air, 

Descends in silver streams her long, luxu- 
riant hair — 

Falling in shining ripples to her august feet, 

Which the waves kiss and worship, as they 
greet — 

Drooping adown upon the distant dark 
abysses, 

Beyond the reach of the fickle sea's caresses — 

Like the glittering veil, that hid with sweet 
disguise, 

Mokanna's mien from mortal eyes ! 

Silence stares, Sphinx-like, out across the 
sand. 

Pondering profound the secrets of the water, 
and land — 
156 



BY THE SEA. 15/ 

Reading some riddle, with earnest, awful eyes. 

That Night hath scrawled in hieroglyphs o'er 
the skies. 

All else is soundless here, save that with 
regular roar, 

The pulse of the tide beats against the rock- 
ribbed shore ; 

Hushed now the eagle's scream — the sea- 
mew's cry, 

Which all day long, sail low ; or, soar on high. 

As I walk here, by the solemn sea, 

I dream of Ojie, that once walked here with 
me; 

Whose saintly feet have sacred made this 
shore, 

But, who alas ! with me, moves here no more — 

" Oh, give me back " — I cry to every wave — 

" My Adelgisa, from the watery grave ; 

An Emperor — I'd give my crown, my sword; 

To hear her lips breathe but one loving word ; 

To see her dark orbs beaming tenderly. 

As once they shone beside this sounding sea ; 

To hold her virgin-hand, once more, in mine. 

And watch, the while, her radiant smile, 
divine ! " 

The Ocean deigns not answer unto me. 

But the wandering Wind sighs sad, with 
sympathy ; 

When I stretch my arms to seek her watery 
grave. 

Behold ! a bright star is mirrored on each 
wave — 

To Heaven, with hope, I turn my tear-dim 
eyes, 

" She may be mine " — I pray, ''in Paradise ! " 



m 




^^s*<-«. 



SHORT SERMONS. 



feep unto deep loud waileth, 
The son^ the waves sin^ to the shore — 
With a voice that never faileth ; 
" Time soon shall be no more! " 

No forest tree decayeth, 
On the lap of earth to lie, 
But to the mind, it sayeth : 
" Thou, too, must shortly die !" 

No flower-bell that swingeth 
Its breathing censer on the air, 
But to the heart, it ringeth 
A mute, muezzin-call to prayer. 

No star on watch-tower burneth — 

A guiding beacon o 'er Night's dark main- 

But answer to the Soul, returneth : 

" Aye ! Thou shalt surely live again. " 

From her million mouths Nature crieth. 

What comfort she may, to give: 
" Man born of woman, but dieth, 
That he may truly liv^e !" 
158 




TO A TIGRESS. 

||in Eastern empress, in this disguise: 

C' With striped satin coat, and great sad eyes — 
(^'^ The Tigress paces her van-den, stately and 
slow, 
And glares at the gaping crowd, below. 

Fair Indian ! with this humble rhyme, 
I bid you welcome to our cold clime — 
But, pray do not look so longingly at me. 
Nor wag your tufted tail so furiously ! 

Can you not see, oh ! charming creature — 
My admiration in every feature ? 
All animals have a firm friend in me — 
And if I dared — I would give you liberty! 

Then, off you would go, with an agile bound, 
To gain once more your old hunting-ground — 
Where in the tangle jungle, your sleek fellows 

sleep. 
Or, velvet-shod, thro * the rhododendrons 

creep. 



l6o TO A TIGRESS. 

There the monkeys swing and scream, above 
the water-falls ; 

The painted parrot whistles shrill; the bright 
flamingo calls ; 

There birds of beauty wing the air ; and Tropic 
butterflies, 

Whose gaudy plumage blooms, with a hun- 
dred dazzling dyes. 

Where, mid the large-leaved trees, the noxious 
airs soft sough ; 

And the monstrous boa hangs, down from the 
giant bough ; 

Where gorgeous blossoms breathe, with per- 
fume-poison breath ; 

And in gay garments lurks always a ghastly 
Death / 

There the lion, lord of the forest, is roaming ; 
Low he crouches there, in the odorous 

gloaming : 
He will wait till the giraffe stoops to drink, 
Then light he will leap, from the fountain 

brink ; 

And will ride his torn, and trembling prey. 
Over the desert, and far away — 
Till, spilling his life-blood fast, as he flies, 
The pretty cameleopard falls, and dies ! 

Oh! the cruel ; cunning; carnivorous beasts — 
How can they enjoy such horrible feasts ? 
Who gave the strong right to prey on the 

weak — 
The Evil, on Innocence, vengeance to wreak ? 



m 



TO A TIGRESS. l6l 

In Eden forfeit, this fierce feud began, 
It is the fatal sequence of the Fall of Man ; 
For, in former days that are done, alas ! 
The lion, with the gentle ox, ate grass. 

— But, young, and graceful Bengalese — 
What sore, and savage sighs are these ? 
What sharp — strong — murderous teeth you 

show — 
You could eat a gazelle; or, a lamb, I know! 

Ah ! beautiful brute, with topas-eyes — 
Not thus you appeared in Paradise; 
When, like a kitten, you gamboled sweet, 
And licked your mistress' milk-white feet. 

She made a daisy-chain, for your neck ; 
Docile, you came at her nod and beck — 
Like a faithful dog, you followed where Eve 

led; 
Ate from her hand, and slept near by her bed. 

I am descended from that lovely woman. 
So guileless once, but oh ! so very human — 
Then, for the sake of my illustrious ancestress, 
You might permit me, just one small caress ! 

— Have you been parted from your chosen 

mate, 
That thus you glower, fiercely desolate? 
Poor pretty Puss ! would that I might restore 
The wedded happiness, you knew before ! 

Ah ! what a wooing that must have been — 
When wandering pairs walked thro ' the 
shady green ; 



1 62 TO A TIGRESS. 

And softly purred ; and kissed ; and then 

growled amorously ; 
All brave — and beautiful — and strong — and 

free ! 

No bridal canopy, save the rosy sky ; 

No priest, but Nature's God, was standing by ; 

The solemn vows were made " till death do 

part;" 
The contract graven on each steadfast heart. 

— And from you, have your brindled babes 

been torn ? 
Better for that man had he ne 'er been born ; 
He shall not peaceful, sleep so sweet, again, 
Haunted by howls of a Mother, in her pain ! 

Swift as the antelope, the steed he bestrode ; 
Like a whirl-wind across the level plain, he 

rode; 
He fled for life, to the hills in the West, 
With the frightened infants clasped to his 

breast. 

You followed him fast — you followed him 

far — 
Appealing for aid to the Evening star ; 
But, no help from the steely heavens came, 
Though the sunset clouds blushed crimson 

with shame ! 

You pressed them hard — you pressed them 

near; 
The Ukraine stallion neighed for fear : 
He knew the plump beauties, he bore on his 

back, 
Were the whelps of the Ten'or that hounded 
^ his track ! 



TO A TIGRESS. 1 63 



But fear lent wings to the horse's feet — 
On — on, he flew, still strong, and fleet ; 
Nor slowed he once his desperate flight, 
Till safe, he stood, in tlie camp-fire's light. 

Now Darkness, in weeds of woe, had come — 
Dejected, you turned your head for home ; 
Beside you ran gaunt visaged, grim Despair, 
To enter in, and live in the lonely lair ! 



When worn and weary to your cave returning, 

You out- watched Night, with bloodshot eyes 
wild burning ; 

A live Sphinx, you looked, all day, across the 
sands. 

Asking a riddle, nor sky, nor earth under- 
stands ! 



The fires of Hell, with hot and hungry light, 
Glow here, immortal, with a Sirius-blight ; 
These flames of angry, and undying grief, 
Nor time — nor change of scene, can give 
relief 1 



Well you remember yet, your bitter wrong — 
Revenge is sweet— -and hate is strong ; 
No wonder you would devour all mankind : 
Man is a coward-robber; crafty; unjust; 
unkind ! 



My sorrowful sister — with large, lurid eyes — 

May be in some fairer garden than was Para- 
dise, 

The good God will restore your lost loves to 
you — 

When he heals my wounds, that often bleed 
anew ! 




THE OLD GREY HOUSE. 



♦^^s^f^^*?-*- 



ilence has fallen on the old grey house, 
In these lonely, latter days — 
No sound is heard, save the small, shy mouse, 
That behind the wainscot hides, and plays. 

And, upstairs in each antiquated room, 
Where of late the living inmates slept — 
Veiled shadows sit, amid the gathering gloom, 
That thro' the lattices closed, have crept. 

From grass-grown graves, in the church-yard 

near. 
Have flitted forth those filmy forms — 
Leaving that which was mortal, and once so 

dear. 
Behind them — a feast for the worms ! 
164 



-n 



THE OLD GREY HOUSE. 1 65 

And does the old man, with the others come, 

To visit as a transient guest — 

The place, where eighty years he had his 

home. 
And all obedient bowed to his behest ? 

His seat still is vacant, at the table ; 
His hat hangs where he hung it, in the hall; 
His stamping steed stands idle, in the stable, 
Waiting, in vain, his master's call. 

All day his dog lies on the sanded floor, 
His dark eyes dewy with drops of pain — 
To watch at the open, empty door. 
For the friend that comes not in. aeain ! 

Oft have I seen him raise his shaggy head. 
With hungering, eager ears to catch, 
The sound of that slow familiar tread, 
At the lifting of the rusty latch. 

And many a time, he has bounded out. 
To join the children,at their games and plays-- 
For in thought, he heard the merry shout, — 
The rippling laughter of other days. 

But two remain now, of the family ; 

And full two score have gone, 

Beyond the gates that open on Eternity — 

So, the old grey house is desolate, and lone. 

And, ere another year rolls round ; 
Or, ere the bright Spring-flowers blow — 
The sexton's spade may break the burial 
ground, 



1 66 THE OLD GREY HOUSE. 

To lay fne, shriven, neath a shroud of snow. 

Or, ere the harvest of the gold June wheat, 
I may sit sohtary, in the shady porch — 
With only faithful Leo lying at my feet ; 
Waiting the Angel with the inverted torch ! 

The loved are never lost — altho' in fleshly 

guise. 
We may not meet them, as we knew them 

here — 
Yet, we shall see them, when our outward 

eyes. 
In sleep are sealed — -for they are near ! 

These solemn spectres like a sombre light — 
They float down to us on the pale moon- 
beams ; 
As sentinels — to ward us thro' the night ; 
As seraphim — to tell of Heaven, in dreams ! 

With spears of lightning, these good, guard- 
ian ghosts. 
Drive the dread demons of the Dark, away — 
Nor will they quit their well-appointed posts. 
Till chanticleer sings reveille. 

See! some soft spirit-luminary flings 
A pearly halo o'er the haunted home ; 
And the melody made by moving wings. 
Tells me, that they have coine ? 




«^5<-» 




'i 



AFTER THE WAR. 



usic and Mirth, the sister-twins have flown, 
With white-winged Hope, back to their home 

on high ; 
Slow- moving Melancholy claimeth as her 

own. 
This dark domain, where weird winds sough 

and sigh. 

Like a large Niobe, that grief hath turned to 

stone — 
In the still solitude, the stately mansion 

stands ; 
A Princess Royal yet, altho ' bereft — alone — 
Her sweet sons slain, and desolate laid her 

lands. 

The garden is buta graveyard for the flowers — 
Dear is their fragrant memory to my heart ; 
With dials gay that marked Life's sunny 

hours, 
* Tis meet that they, with happiness, should 

depart. 

167 



1 68 AFTER THE WAR. 

The grand old grounds are over-grown with 

weeds ; 
The palHd fountains fail, with desert-thirst 

afaint ; 
A singing swan floats down to die amid the 

reeds ; 
A single swamp-bird sounds his sad complaint. 

The talking trees are telling to the brook. 
Of better days, that they, in youth, have seen — 
When here and there, far as the eye could look, 
These meadows waved, with billowy cereals 
green. 

And where now lie the long neglected lands, 
(In the good years gone, but not forgotten,) 
Three hundred hearty, happy negro hands. 
Contentedly picked out the snowy cotton. 

Oh ! lovely was life in the Languid Land — 
When silvery laughter tinkled low, and long ; 
When the rosy Hours, all day, danced hand 

in hand ; 
And the breeze bore the tones of viol — banjo 

— and song I 

Hath Pestilence this fearful evil brought ? 
Was Eden blighted by red bolts of levin ? 
* By inhumanity of Man, was this ruin 
wrought — 
Or, is our late loved land accursed of Heaven ? 

From the blue boundary, where the mountains 

swell, 
To the savannahs, by the murmuring main — 



AFTER THE WAR. 1 69 



Like Alaric, let loose at last, from leash in 

Hell, 
With Murder — Fire — and Rapine, in his 

train ; 

Came The Abliorred — the second " Scourge 

of God" — 
With cyclone-sweep, rushed his rude, ruthless 

band ; 
To desecrate our sacred Southern sod — 
A sword — a torch, in either hateful hand ! 

Like that fair, guileless Grecian girl, of old. 
At Aulis, a sacrifice for propitiation — 
A blue-eyed virgin, with long locks of gold, 
Had made the gallant gods auspicious to my 
nation. 



Dear Tropic Land of my nativity — 

No words of pen can paint thy ravished 

charms ; 
Would that I might, instead, have died for 

thee — 
And by my blood, bought Victory to thy 

arms! 



Is Mercy deaf — Justice, the even-handed, 

blind- 
That Might o 'er Right, can wrongly triumph 

thus ? 
Fortuna favet fortibits — why is Fate unkind ? 
And, where is God? we thought God was 

with us ! 



I/O 



AFTER THE WAR. 



Back fall my arrows from the shining shield. 
The polished armor of the steel-grey skies — 
Poor fool ! the heavenly powers ne 'er yet 

would yield 
To man, the secrets dread, of human destinies ! 

As Darkness onward creeps with stealthy 
panther-pace, 

And down the West Diana draws her glitter- 
ing trail — 

Stern Silence stares with set, and stony face, — 

And Mystery sits shrouded — awful in Isis- 
veil. 

From the cool, sparkling sapphire springs of 

space. 
In balmy drops. Evening her dew distills — 
Like angels' tears, it falls upon my face, 
And all my being with sweet solace fills. 

The Spirit of Night will stoop to comfort me ; 
And softly bright her saintly eyes will beam. 
When, held to her heart, in a trance of ecstasy, 
She kisses my soul thro ' a tender dream ! 



Oh! thou great goddess — gentle — wise- 

nign— 
Teach me to spell the alphabet of stars : 
That, I may read aright, in Magian sign, 
The occult issue of these woful wars ! 



-be- 




THE RIVALS. 



Phe bloom I brought, my Helen, for thy hair, 
Was red as rose could be ; 
But she has pallid grown with fear. 
And faint with jealousy. 

This pretty little rose, 
Whose fragrance is divine — 
Is hurt because her beauty shows. 
Less fair, my love, than thine ! 

And the pale flower I culled, to grace 
Thy bosom, with its Alpine snows — 
Has blushed deep crimson, in the face ; 
The foolish, vain young rose ! 

For she is angry to behold 
Thy bosom's dazzling brightness, 
Thy ivory neck, in chain of gold — • 
That far surpass her whiteness ! 

171 




TO MY MENTOR. 

^^^^^^^ 

phat I may be always with thee — 

(A thought that thrills my heart with bliss — ) 
Deprive me of motion — of liberty, 
By one cold, careless kiss ! 

In childhood I have read, 
In the annals of ancient Greece: 
Of a sculptor, long since dead — 
(Sweet soul, may he rest in peace ! ) 

Who loved so well the marble-woman, 
Which his own hands had fashioned, 
That she became a living human — 
Soft ; rosy ; and impassioned ! 

Reverse the order, in this case — 
(Thou may'st possess me, then, alone — ) 
Kill with a kiss — chill by a cold embrace, 
The loving woman, into pure, pale stone ! 
172 




SEAWORTHY. 



j^ he good ship fears not the fierce frowning rocks. 
Nor heeds the hideous howHngs of the blast; 
Sustains unharmed the tempest's rudest 

shocks, 
And rides in safety, till the storm be past 

Oh ! many a sea hath o 'er her bulwarks broke, 
And many a squall hath made her roll, and 

reel; 
Oft she hath staggered neath the cyclone's 

stroke, 
And quivered from her top-mast, to her keel ! 

173 



=^ 



174 SEAWORTHY. 

Aye! the great w-aves have o'er her tafifrail 

broke, 
And cruel blows have made her pitch and reel ; 
But cheerily her heart}' captain spoke, 
And merrily answered, the man at the wheel. 

She hath for Pilot, one that knows 
What \v2Ly to cross the ocean's pathless tracks ; 
She reefs her sails ; and cautiously she slows ; 
Changes her course ; ^r, runs ; or, trims, and 
tacks, 

A nobler Captain ne'er on deck hath stept, 
Nor sailed the salt seas e 'er a braver crew — 
Serene, and strong, while hurricanes have 

swept, 
As when the canopy above was blue. 

Oh ! sailor-souls, that know not how to quail. 
When tropic thunders deafening roar, and 

crash — 
Oh! bronzed cheeks, that never yet grew pale, 
In the livid light of the levin's flash ! 

Yes! many a sea hath o'er her bulwarks 

broke, 
And many a squall hath made her roll, and 

reel; 
Oft she hath staggered neath the cyclone's 

stroke, 
And quivered from her top-mast, to her keel ! 

Of Norway pine — of sturdy English oak — 
And clad in triple-coat of finest steel; 



SEAWORTHY. 



175 



No plank hath sprung; nor any bolt hath 

broke ; 
Seaworthy ship, from haughty head, to heel ! 



So, my strong Spirit calmly doth endure 
The wildest buffetings of mortal life ; 
For her salvation is much more secure, 
Than the stout ship, mid elemental strife. 

Faith, is the pilot that doth sleepless guide 
Her destinies across the dreadful deep ; 
Hope, is the captain, that stands close beside, 
From fear, despair, and mutiny to keep ; 

The stalwart energies of the indomitable 

Will— 
The aspirations high of the human Heart — 
Which all content, and cheerful still. 
Act the ship-crew's trust}^ part. 



Lord! Thou wilt bring my spirit-bark to 

shore. 
When the sun sets slow in a sea of gold, at 

even — 
To wander o 'er the wild world-Avaves no 

more, 
But safe to rest within Thy ha\^en — Heaven! 



K lllll i mi. l im; Mllll'tlimt'l m im nnm i lJ.mx 



|:^^.#^.#^.:^^_#^#^c! 




TO JOAQUIN MILLER, 



POET-PHILOSOPHER. 



I. 



(['targe Mind, that is content to leave 
The sordid marts of selfish men ; 
And fine poetic fancies weave, 
With magic shuttle, of thy facile pen ! 

Precious the product of artistic thought. 
With fruits that blush — with flowers that 

bloom. 
As the gay stuffs, for the Caliph's harem 

wrought, 
By patient Persian, at the loom ; 



Or, rich as those rare tapestries, 
Which nuns with needle work, adorned of old; 
Or, bright with bullion broideries. 
As the Sultan's saddle-cloth of gold ; 
176 



.i 



TO JOAQUIN MILLER. lyy 

Or, like the India muslins sheer, 
Fleecy as cloud-rifts, and as white as milk ; 
Or, tissue-soft, and dazzling-dim, yet clear, 
As Prophet's veil of silver silk ; 

Or, glistening as the cob-web sheen. 
Exquisite formed, and dainty frail, — 
To robe the person of the Fairy Queen, 
Spun out of Autumn moonbeams pale! 

II. 

Sweet Soul, that in the solitude doth sit, 
Dreaming devout, the whole day long; 
While round the roof-tree happy swallows flit. 
And sky-larks flood the halls of heaven, with 
song? 

Like those blithe birds, that swim the ether 

blue, 
Thy thoughts on fleet wings, hither and 

thither, fly; 
Seeking the Good — the Beautiful — the True — 
They skim o er earth, then soar up to the sky! 

Or, like the restless working-bees, 
Make honey choice as hives of Hybla yield — 
Sailing their nectar-laden argosies. 
From clover-lot, and new-blown buckwheat 
field; 

Or, like the ants, that in their granaries neat, 
Store up their food for Winter, crumb by 

crumb; 
A single seed — a tiny grain of wheat — 
With perseverance slow, and dumb ; 



[78 TO JOAQUIN MILLER. 

Wise as Arachne, when she spins her thread, 
From some intestinal material fine — 
The Dreamer draws from his prolific head, 
Toils that can catch "the tunefial Nine! " 



III. 



Strong Soul, that loves to live alone — 

Though fi-iendly are thy feelings for man- 
kind — 

Needing no music — save the heart-harp's 
witching tone; 

Wanting no world — a world within thy mind ! 

With joy, thou view'st the advent of the 

morn — 
When rising o'er some haughty hill, 
Aurora fair, from opal clouds is born. 
Earth's aged pulse, with new desires, to thrill. 

And, thou, at eve, dost love to list 
The " kindly-eyed cattle's " plaintive low ; 
The river rumbling, thro' his mask of mist; 
The sigh of West winds, as they softly blow ; 

The tender tolling of the Angelus-bell, 
Calling the convent-children to pray — 
Ringing regretful, it may be, a knell, 
For some saint, that dies with the day; 

To stand, at midnight, silent neath the stars, 
And upward look, with fascinated gaze — 
Longing, alas ! to burst these prison-bars, 
And tread the track of those celestial wavs ! 



TO JOAQUIN MILLER. 1/9 

IV. 

Sweet Sprite, that in the solitude doth flit, 

Dreaming divinely, all day long; 

While round low eaves the busy brown wrens 

twit, 
And mock-birds trill, in ecstasies of song! 

Let not thy good be overcome of Evil — 

Not all the shafts of Hell shall move. 

The man that fights the World — the Flesh — 

the Devil — 
With arms invincible: Faith — Hope — and 

Love! 

Grieve not at Sin — great Heart, be glad — 
Vex not thy soul with mortal strife; 
Only the godless, and guilty should feel sad, 
To see the strange kaleidoscope, called : Life! 

Trust thou in God, for everything; 
By His supreme, all-wise command, 
Order complete, from chaos, He shall bring — 
Sleep, cradled in the hollow of His hand! 

The gentle Angel, with the torch turned down. 
Shall lead thy footsteps from this field of war; 
And, thy pale palm clasped closely in his own. 
Shall speed thy flight to some serener star ! 

V. 

Magian, her sacred secrets thou hast won — 
Then, with a faith that is childlike, pure, and 

simple. 
Calm Poet-Priest, thy singing-robes put on, 
And enter Nature's leafy temple ! 



i8o 



TO JOAQUIN MILLER. 



The tall-topped trees, that stand in stately 

rows, 
Shall bend in silent adoration — 
As when before the blazing altar bows, 
A mute, and awe-struck congregation ; 

While over head the feathered choir shall 

sing. 
With ardor that ever grows intenser — 
Like acolytes, the sweet wild-flowers shall , 

swing 
Each gold, and blue bell-censer; 

From out the turmoil of the towered town, 
Contented Labor's chant distinct shall rise; 
And even the Blessed Dead look down. 
With pleasure, from Paradise ! 

Come ! while the woods are green — the skies 

are fair. 
And mild September days are bright, and 

long- 
While the cool caves of the upper air 
O'erflow with the throbbing tide of Song! 




!^'*^5<<-i- 




A LAST DESIRE. 

,t morn a little blithe bird sat chanting, 
A song in praise of his neat new nest ; 
At noon that wretched bird lay panting, 
With a cruel arrow hid in his breast ! 

My fondest affections ever were wasted, 
Like water to the arid desert thrown ; 
And the cup of bliss was but barely tasted, 
Ere rudely, from my lips, dashed down ! 

When the flowers fade, that we have cherished, 
They return with the sunshine, and warm rain; 
But when the buds of Hope are perished, 
They may not bloom, on earth, again ! 

I am sick of deceit, and delusion — 
I am tired of turmoil, and strife — 
Of buffeting ; noise ; and confusion — 
O Lord ! I am weary of life. 

The doe, all day that is hounded, 
By the hunter's shout — the deer-dog's cry — 
O'ertaken, at last, and mortal wounded, 
Seeks but a covert where to die ! 

Hurt to the heart, and inward bleeding, 
Some shady wilderness I only crave — 
To find, while life's last hours are speeding, 
A peaceful passage to an obscure grave ! 

i8i 




CUPID'S REVENGK 



' ong time had Lulu laughed at Love, 
And skeptical, denied hira ; 
Long time to wound her, Cupid strove. 
But Lulu still defied him. 

Oft times had Lulu scoffed at Love, 
And doubted his divinity ; 
Nor vows, nor tears, her heart could move. 
And she had no " Affinity." 

Oh ! many a time the bow was skillful bent. 
The arrow carefully adjusted — 
To hit some mark he had not meant. 
Till Cupid grew disgusted ! 

One eve when Love went forth to play. 
Among the butterflies, and flowers. 
He spied sweet Lulu, where she lay. 
Sleeping serene, mid sylvan bowers ; 

Then deep the tricksy little wight. 
In reverie, bethought him. 
Of potent spells, his Mother-sprite, 
In infcincy had taught him ; 

He knew where bloomed a plant divine. 
Which opens at the sunset hour — 
Whose honeyed dew distils a wine. 
With strange, and dangerous power; 
182 



Cupid's revenge. 183 

Light winging, as a zephyr from the West, 
That o'er the nodding harebells passes — 
Dear little Love flew eager on his quest, 
Across the whispering grasses ; 

Full soon he found the magic flower. 
Breathing abroad its pungent odor-balms — 
Instant he culled it, and with all his power. 
Pressed it between his small pink, pretty palms; 

Ere long the pale green-yellow juices, 
Sparkling and bright, as drops ofamber wine — 
Was an extract made for fatal uses, 
In a gold-red chalice of the trumpet-vine ; 

Silent and swift, as fleeteth by. 
The floating shadow of some Summer cloud, 
Fled laughing Love, till with an artful eye. 
O'er dreaming Lulu, gracefully he bowed ; 

' Twixt languid lady's lovely lips. 
That in her sleep were slightly parted — 
The pleasant philter easy slips — 
And Cupid, then content, off started ; 

Long as the virgin calmly slept, 
The powerful potion did no harm : 
But, when at last a black ant crept — 
And sharply stung her bare, white arm ; 

And springing quickly to her feet. 
She wildly looked around her — 
The subtle spell, so strong — so sweet. 
Both mind and body, bound her ! 



184 CUPIDS REVENGE. 

Was it by chance, that in her way, 

A handsome hunter, with his hounds sliould 

come ? 
That chased the stag the hve-long day. 
And now, at night, was wandering home. 

The young man's cottage close by Lulu's 

stood ; 
So, with his trophies of the forest laden — 
He begged to be her escort thro' the wood, 
And to protect the timid maiden : 

Homeward they went, thro' the enchanted 

wood ; 
And when, at Lulu's door, they kindly parted, 
The girl looked after him, in tender mood — 
For in her heart an arrow keenly smarted ! 

A month rolled round — it brought his wed- 
ding-day, 
But Lulu's hopes of happiness were blighted : 
For Robin, to church, took gentle Alice Grey — 
And their mutual marriage vows were plighted. 

Poor Lulu lived a long, and lonely life — 
Her youthful folly weeded out by pain ; 
And many an offer she refused, to be a wife. 
Loving but once — altho' she loved in vain ! 



moral: 
Who laughs at Love, ere long Love shall 

make weep. 
Steal from the eye its brightness — from the 

cheek its rose ; 
And every maiden, when she goes to sleep, 
Should be careful her month to close / 



'-^w^ 




THE MISSING JEWELS. 

hey are Thine own, from all Eternity — 

But Thou didst kindly loan them once to me; 
I was not fitted for the sacred trust : 
The casket that held them, holds now only — 
dust ! 

Lord ! Thou hast done wisely ; and well for 

them, 
They are replaced in the royal diadem — 
Where Aiden's walls — those sapphires blue 

and bright, 
Gleam pale as pearls, beneath their living 

light! 

The portals of Paradise are often ajar — 
And one sparkling ray — swift as a meteor- 
star — 
To signal me, by its celestial flight, 
Falls headlong down the black abyss of 
Night! 

Oh! Thou, that art Goodness — Mercy — and 

Love — 
Try me once more — I may more worthy 

prove ; 
I ask not — those Jewels to earth again be 

given — 
But, to my breast give back both babes — in 

Heaven ! 

185 




THE LONELY GRAVE. 



lis a loney spot, mid the wooded hills, 

Where rushes strong, and swift the river, 
Whose sullen roar the funnel-gorges fills. 
Till the timid aspens shake, and quiver. 



There the Autumn night-winds sough soft 

and low; 
There gently falls the Summer rain ; 
There lightly lies the Winter's driven snov/, 
Till the crocus blows again. 

There the merry mavis makes his home. 
With his mate, in the hawthorn bush ; 
There every year the red-birds come ; 
There sings to his young brood, the thrush. 
i86 



THE LONELY GRAVE 



187 



There the kindly Mother, Nature, may yield 
That sympathy Man hath denied — 
For she daily dresses with gems of the field. 
The grave of the sad Suicide! 

There, too, at the fading of the day. 

The pensive Poet comes to stroll ; 

There, on the green sward, kneels devout to 

pray. 
For the peace of that poor soul ; 

For peace — for pity — for pardon — for light — • 
(If yet his sins may be forgiven — ) 
Rash spirit, rushing forth in the night. 
Uncalled for, and all unshriven ! 

But gentle Nature, when Spring comes again. 
With flower-embroideries on the velvet-sod — 
Shall write, with sunshine, and tears of rain — 
A message of mercy from Godl 





€ 



DON AND SANCHO. 

W}Ioot-to-foot, they chase the stag, 

Jm On the rocky peak — on the mountain crag ; 
Or, follow the fox ; or, hunt the hare, 
When the winds are bleak, and the woods are 
bare. 

Neck-and-neck, they walk with me, 
When the day is dead, by the sorrowful sea — 
Keeping pace — good guards on either hand. 
Step for step, in the white wet sand. 

They lie together, nose-and-nose. 
When in the house they seek repose ; 
And two pairs of dark, honest eyes that shine, 
Upturn, in the ruddy firelight, to mine. 

They will not feed ; or, sleep, alone ; 
Nor do they ever dispute o'er a bone ; 
But, they eat their supper, cheek-by-jowl. 
And drink beef-broth, from the same brown 
bowl. 

When a stranger enters — early, or, late — 
Both dogs dash out to the garden-gate ; 
Together they patrol the grounds, and prowl — 
Each giving the other, growl for growl. 
1 88 



DON AND SANCHO. 1 89 

In unison they bay the rising moon ; 
And join in the night-wind's plaintive tune ; 
Or, echo the blood-curdHng cry of the owl ; 
Or, answer the distant watch-dog's howl. 

Both bark at the door; or, whine, and scratch ; 
Both jump for joy, when I lift the latch; 
And, with the true love that never fails — 
They lick my hands, and wag their tails. 

These two brave brothers were born at a birth ; 
The same is their height ; their length ; and 

their girth; 
Their color is one — as like as two dollars — 
They weigh just the same; and wear the 

same collars. 

They are as like as two black-eyed pease ; 
Or, two white beans — which ever you please; 
Nobody can tell the one from the other. 
Save me — no ! not even their own dear mother. 

What happiness hourly they furnished my 

mind, 
Such perfect agreement, in dumb brutes to 

find; 
But, ah ! it makes me feel sad to tell. 
Their affairs forever went not so well : 

For they both fell in love, the very same day. 
With a handsome young creature, just over 

the way — 
And I heard such a noise, I ran out in a fright, 
To find — Don and Sancho engaged in a fight! 



THE QUAKERESS. 

i; love to meet the quiet Quakeress, 

With her quaint bonnet, and her queer drab 

dress — 
Her hands meek folded, and her pretty foot, 
Cased in a sensible, soft, heel-less boot. 

Her milk-and-peach, immaculate complexion, 
Needs no cosmetic to add to its perfection — 
No pads ; or, stays ; or, other French appli- 
ance — 
For natural charms alone, are her reliance. 

How beautiful her eyes of brown appear — 

Like Heshbon's fish-pools, calm and limpid- 
clear ; 

Pure, as the sculptor's dream, her faultless 
form, 

Her marble face — yet are her red lips warm ! 

What bitter tears those tender eyes have wept — 
What angry storms o'er her horison swept — 
No man may know ; for there is naught ex- 

prest. 
On that fair page, but perfect peace and rest ! 

Sweet sister-hood, all clad in modest grey — 
Say — do your pulses beat evenly alway ? 
Well known is your disdain for changing 

fashions — 
But, pray tell me — have you no mortal 

passions ? 
190 



THE QUAKERESS. I9I 

Had you a childhood, ever — and did you, 
Dress up your dolls, in green, and pink, and 

blue — 
Or, did you make them wear like gowns of 

grey- 
Demure young Friends, even at that early day? 

And, when the heart began to grow, and move, 
Pray tell me — did you ever fall in love ? 
What would the members say, at weekly 

meeting. 
If both lips and hands, met in a greeting ? 

How chaste, and temperate your connubial 

blisses — 
With a pious flavor even to your kisses ! 
You make me think of the gentle cooing 

doves, 
That build their nests iii the most secluded 

groves. 

How good the tenets of the faith that binds. 
In a firm fellowship, such guileless minds ; 
Would God — that everybody were a Friend, 
For wars and crimes, on earth, would haply 
end ! 

Blest be your lot — unknown, dear Quakeress- 
With the plain bonnet, and the neat drab 

dress ; 
Calm your departure, as at dawn of day, 
The mist, from the mountain, melts softly 

away I 



PHILOMELA. 



i . . 

IJl'lis midnight hour — the noon of night, 

When Time turns his sand-glass, and quickens 

his flight ; 
While from the ivied tower across the way, 
The bell rings a knell, for the death of the 

day — 
And from the steeple tall, of the old town-hall, 
The strokes of the clock loud, and solemnly 

fall. 
The aspens are rustling in the low-breathing 

breeze. 
Which now slyly toys with the trembling 

trees ; 
And on every blade of green grass is seen, 
The jewels that mock the gems of a queen. 
The short stout cedars by the garden-gate, 
Like sentinels seem to stand and wait; 
Or like dusky eunuchs, that with cimetar op- 
pose, 
An entrance to the harem of the Lily, and the 

Rose. 
But, with the West wind — thats a fickle rover— 
I steal my way — an ardent lover : 
" Oh ! unknown Voice — that from the dim 

saloon, 
Floats out, in ecstasy, below the midnight 

moon. 
Strong — clear as crystal — most divinely 

sweet — 
Sing on forever !^' — I entreat. 
192 



PHILOMELA. 193 

Who poured this urn of sweet sounds on the 

air? 
Surely she must be gifted, and good, and fair ; 
For, with a matchless voice, and perfect grace, 
How beautiful her form should be — how 

heavenly, her face ! 
Now, the white-robed Messengers have tarried 

and hung, 
All breathless above, to hear when she sung : 
Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer, to whom is 

given 
To bear up, as flowers, our petitions to 

Heaven ; 
And the sad-eyed Azrael — the Angel of 

Death- 
Stays his fell flight, too ; and returns his sword 

to sheath; 
And Israfel — whose heart-strings are a dulcet 

lute— 
O 'er the jacinth battlements bends smiling, 

and mute; 
And the good Guardian Angels, that walk on 

the right — 
Who, each has just closed his book, for the 

night — 
With a host of glad Seraphs, swift winging 

the way, 
To the throne of The King, ere dawn of the 

day — 
This bright band above, in expectation waits, 
Loath for awhile to pass the pearly gates — 
Spell-bound by those strains that to Heaven 

belong — 
All thrilled to the heart, by a young maiden's 

song! 




SMETON TO ANNE BOLEYN. 



i^ist ! my lady Annie — 
Fairer than any ; 
Say, art thou sleeping ? 
Or, waiting and weeping ? 
From thy white-curtained casement, 
Look below to the castle-basement ; 
Star-eyed, as the Night, as pensive and mute, 
List the low plaintive pleadings of my lute ! 



Prithee, my lady Annie^ — 
So winsome and bonnie ; 
While the breeze this way blows, 
Fling me down a fresh rose ; 
For some other luckless day, 
The wind may blow another way — 
And the emblem of love that belongs to me, 
By other hands may gathered be ! 
194 



SMETON TO ANNE BOLEYN. 1 95 

The flower thou hast flung me, Sweet, 
Falls fluttering soft at my feet — 
Like a white carrier-dov^e, 
Bearing a message of love ; 
Pure rose ! that late was fully blest, 
Dreaming of Eden, on thy fair breast — 
Would God, my happy lot might be, 
To rest in that heaven, eternally ! 

And following fast here, too, 

There falleth a red rose, wet with dew — 

That minds of thy fragrant mouth, 

Thou, darling daughter of the South ! 

With what rapture I sip 

The nectar off her lip — 

As, oft in blissful bygone hours, 

I've kissed thy lips — ^pomegranate flowers ! 

Lean low, my lady Annie — 
Wiser than many, 
Beware of the King — 
Reject tliou his ring! 
The fierce Tudor proves 
Faithless, and fickle, in his loves ; 
Remember unhappy Katherine — 
Ah ! if a fate like that, were thine. 

Oh ! not for long, white _/?r7/rrf'^/)/5 of France, 
Wilt thou hold Henry, with thy witching 

glance ; 
For the favor of the sensual King, 
At best, is a most unceilain thing ; 
The poor queen -consort's crown was worn. 
With many a cruel hidden thorn ; 
And thy ending may indeed prove worse, 
When his passion shall have run its course. 



196 



SMETON TO ANNE BOLEYN. 



Fair queen of the flowers ! 
That e'er his hateful towers, 
Should o'ershadow thy sleep, 
With their dark donjon-keep ! 
Accursed for aye, be the palace tall — 
That even now, like a funeral pall, 
Casts its deadly Upas-shade 
On thy path-way, beauteous maid ! 

Oh ! fly then, lady Annie — 

Cautious and canny ; 

To-night, while yet we may, 

Let us hasten, love, away ; 

While the moonbeams on the waters dance, 

Let us hie to the friendly shores of France ; 

Where life one long sweet dream may be, 

With safety — honor — and with me ! 



♦7>£^^ 




<:*^5<^ 




TO THE LARK. 



^^'^ 



Hark, Hark ! The lark at heaven's gate sings. 

— Cymbeline. 



fh! morning Lark, that blithe at Heaven's gate 
^ Lend me, I pray thee, thy bold, bouyant wings ; 
My one pretty bird hath flown beyond those 

portals, 
That jealously are always shut to mortals ; 

If it might be, I 'd be content to wait 
My life long, watching at the pearly gate — 
Like the poor Peri, at the door of Paradise, 
With mien dejected, and with down-cast eyes. 

I might not enter there because of Sin — 
But, I might sometimes get a glimpse within • 
When some celestial sentinel flew out, 
The starry avenues of Eden, to scout ; 



Methinks he would not drive me sternly 

thence, 
From that inviolate rainbow-eminence — 
My only plea would be — (I have no other — ) 
That once an angel called me: "Mother!" 

197 



198 



TO THE LARK. 



Ah ! if among the throng that there rejoices — 
When the welkin rings back to their crystal- 

hne voices — 
I might but hear the lovely song-bird sing. 
That left her little cage with half-fledged wing ! 

Or, if the gates were slightly left ajar. 
And I — securely seated on some star — 
Could hear the echoes of her tinkling laugh. 
How the sweet sound, my thirsty soul would 
quaff! 

Or, to behold her, without sign ; or, word — 
Borne on the loving bosom of the Lord ; 
Like a young lamb, that gentle shepherd bears. 
When it is weary ; or, distressed by fears ; 

If I could view this wondrous charming sight. 
Half-blinded tho' I'd be by Heaven's own 

light— 
My spirit thro ' each pore of clay would break. 
In rhapsodies of trumpet-song to speak ! 

Wilt pity me, sweet bird? Thou hast thy mate. 

While I am lonely and disconsolate; 

Thou hast, each Spring, thy callow-brood in 

nest — 
An aching void burns ever in my breast ! 



Then, blessed Lark, at Heaven's gate .that 

sings, 
Lend me, I pray thee, thy bold,bouyant wings ; 
Till purified by suffering from all Sin — 
To find m.y " Baby-Bird," I enter in ! 




IN MY LADY'S GARDEN. 



MOW the night-stars are tenderly shining, 
i^l From the vast vault of azure above : 
^ Now the nightingale is tender repining, 
To the linden tree telling his love! 

For the nightingale daily is dying, 
For love of the beautiful rose; 
And ever he is singing, and sighing. 
On her pink, perfumed breast, to repose! 

But the rose — tho' she hears him, andblushes, 
Not ready her faith yet to plight — 
Hides her fair laughing face mid the bushes, 
And bids her bird-lover, "good-night!" 

The lily so pale, and so stately. 

Has other affairs to adjust — 

She arranges her loves more sedately. 

With anthers, and gold poUen-dusL 



The tall, gaudy sun-flower turneth 
Her yellow disc, still, to the West— 



199 



m 



200 IN MY LADYS GARDEN. 

And, her heart witH its fervor yet bumeth, 
Tho her god hath gone down to his rest. 

The modest young violets are hiding 
Their blue eyes beneath the large leaves ; 
And the tulips are cautious confiding 
Their love-secrets, to the green sheaves. 

Now the scarlet woodbine is weeping. 
In the saddest, most desolate way — 
Because of the bumble-bee's keeping, 
A week — or, more, from her all day. 

But the gay gladiolus is taunting. 
The tube-rose, that trembles, enraged ; 
And the dahlia is flirting and flaunting. 
With the sweet-pea, that's just got engaged. 

While some of the blossoms are paying 
Their compliments to the light breeze ; 
The others are wishing and praying. 
For the dew-drops, that drip from the trees. 

Now from their nursery, the infant flowers. 
With dreamy, half-opened eyes — • 
Are peeping thro the leafy bowers. 
To see the full moon rise ; 

For to them Diana seemeth 

A goddess gentle, and bright — • 

That they worship devout, when shebeameth ; 

That they mourn, when lost to their sight ! 

While the wanton wind with the clover's 

playing. 
Or, dallying with the acasia's loose hair ; 



f" 



IN MY lady's garden. 20I 

The Troubadour, in the Pleasance straying, 
Sings, neath the window, to his lady fair : 

LUTE SONG. 

Queen of Beauty! whose bright smile 
Bids every cloud of care depart ; 
As sunshine glads some barren isle, 
Arise ! and light my lonely heart. 

Fair Leda, from thy lattice leaning, 

Clad all in robes of virgin white — 

Come forth, and tell the flowers' meaning, 

When soft they whisper, in pale Luna's light! 

The moon is mirrored in the flashing fountain ; 
Her smile lights up the lonely sapphire sea ; 
Her silver veil floats far o'er mead, and 

mountain; 
Gilds tiny blue-bell ; and tall tamarind tree. 

The light of Love, thus pure and holy — 
With fairer ray illumes each tender breast ; 
The peasant's heart, hid 'neath his habit lowly ; 
The monarch's — robed in royal purple vest ! 

The lake reflects the heavens so brightly, 
It shineth like a polished shield — 
The flowers, bathed by tears of Nature nightly, 
Their sweetest sighs, to the wooing zephyrs 
yield. 

Come forth — the star of Love is beaming ; 
The white dove slumbers on her silent nest ; 
The lillies, on the little lake, lie dreaming. 
The snowy swan sleeps on the lillies' breast ! 







LITTLE MABEL. 









met little Mabel walking a mile, 
Over the meadow and over the stile — 
Light was her step, and bright was her eye, 
For the fresh airs kissed her, as they passed by. 

On her cheek the dimples played in and out, 
With lips, like red cherries, that temptlingly 

pout; 
And her voice had the tone of the happy bird. 
That out of the wheat-field stubble stirred. 



She was hurrying away to the village-school, 
With her rustic satchel, and slate, and rule ; 
She was clad in a gown of gay Scotch plaid. 
And her brown hair was smoothly done in a 
braid ; 

Her red knitted hood was snug, and sweet ; 
Her little red jacket was trim, and neat ; 
And her perfect, plump, Cinderella-foot, 
Like a jewel shone, in its polished boot. 



202 



LITTLE MABEL. 203 

Oh ! fair field-flower, with innocent face — 
So frank, and so free, and full of child-grace — 
I can but think, when I look on thee, 
What thy future fate, perhaps, may be ! 

When thou must move among selfish men, 
Will thy path be strewn with roses, then ? 
No, alas ! Life's thorns grow sharper each 

hour — 
And beauty to a woman is a fatal dower! 

What tears may dim the angel-light 
Of thy loving eyes, so serenely bright — 
How wan thy cheek grow, with a silent grief, 
That knows no respite here; nor here relief! 

Yes ! those pretty feet rnay walk with pain, 
Ill-shod, and numb with cold, in the rain ; 
Or, bare and bruised, they may have to go. 
With tracks of blood, thro' the biting snow ! 

To toil, and to struggle — to faint, and to 

sweat — 
Pinched now by the frost, and then scorched 

by the heat ; 
With hunger, and head-ache, and soul-sickness 

sore. 
Till weak human nature can bear nothing 

more! 

For it may be, Mabel, that thou wilt stand 
At the altar, and pledge thy maiden-hand, 
To one, that vows — in sickness, in health,- 
In poverty's straits — or, abounding in wealth ; 



204 LITTLE MABEL. 

To love — to protect — to keep tenderly — 
And forsaking all others, cleave only to thee — 
Yet, ere three brief years of wedlock be gone 
Thou, desolate — denuded — may be left all 
alone ! 

Or, what is, God knows, infinitely worse — 
Returning at night, with a blow and a curse ; 
While the little ones frighted, in a corner 

shrink. 
The husband and father, made a madman by 

drink ; 

With a fury, that man from the devils bor- 
rows — 

Make thy home a very hell of horrors ; 

While thou dost clasp thy latest-born and 
weep, 

And trembling from his dreadful presence 
creep. 

Thy patient heart full soon would break; 
Or, thy life, my lamb, the brute might take ; 
Himself, then, to perdition speedy hurled — 
And thy unfledged offspring, thrown out on 
the world; 

' Twould be better, my darling, that thou wert 

sleeping. 
By the river bank, where the willows are 

weeping — 
Than thine a destiny with anguish rife — 
A deserted dupe — or, a drunkard's wife ! 

Or, wilt thou be that distressed thing, 

A girl with a baby, but no wedding-ring? 



LITTLE MABEL. 20$ 

A subject for sport — an object for scorn — 
Oh ! woman, ' twere better thou tie'er had been 
born! 

With thy large eyes full of a wild unrest — 
And a sickly babe borne on thy breast — 
Holding out its pitiful, purple palms, 
To mutely ask of Affluence, alms ! 

Stay — where is the wretch ; say — where does 

he hide, 
Would make Mabel a mother, but never a 

bride ? 
Oh! did I but know him — oh! were he but 

here, 
I would murder him now, by Heaven, I swear! 

Or, a gilded and painted nymphe dii pave ? 
(I'd rather far see any girl in her grave — ) 
Or, a penitent, in the convent to dwell ? 
Or, a prisoner, closed in the convict's cell ? 

Or, a victim to rum — or. Opium's slave ? 
Or, maniac, at the barred window to rave ? 
Or, Orestes-like, scourged by sea, and by land. 
Fast flying for fear, from fell Furies' hand ? 

Oh ! my Mabel meek — oh I my Mabel mild — 
E'en the knowledge of Evil, would scare thee, 

poor child! 
Thou wayside flower, sweet smiling from this 

vile earth's sod — 
I will pray for thy future, ajid leave thee — to 

God! 




THE DYING BODY TO THE SOUL. 

I'Ihe dying body to its sad Soul said : 
^fil " Soon in the churchyard mould I will belaid; 
Say — wilt thou suffer me, thy beauteous Form- 
To see Corruption, and to feed the Worm ? 

Oh ! blessed Spirit, do thou pity me — 
Only to think, how dreadful it will be, 
When thou, to happiness on high, art gone, 
That I must lie, in the long night, alone ! 



Wilt thou forsake me, my sweet Sister — why? 
Ah ! take me, too, beyond the bright blue 

sky- 
Will not the seraph-wings, that thou wilt wear, 
Be strong enough my grosser weight to bear? 
206 



THE DYING BODY TO THE SOUL. 20/ 

Do not desert me, dearest, do thou stay — 
Have not we dwelt together pleasantly alway ? 
Have not I been from birth, thy faithful slave ? 
And wilt thou leave me now, to glut the 
grave ? 

Do not I suit, and fit thee perfect well — 
As the almond-kernel, close fitted by its shell ? 
It was ordained, rfrom all eternity, for me, 
A Parian lamp, that holds thy flame, to be ! 

Stay with me, then, my dear companion, stay ! 

Have not I always given thee, thy way? 

I never murmured, tho' severe thou hast 

chid me. 
But ever came, and went, as thou hast bid me ; 

When thou wert faint, I hastened then to eat ; 
When thou wert thirsty, I drank waters sweet ; 
When thou wert worn, to coax thee to repose. 
The (*urtain-lids of my large eyes, I'd close ; 

If thou wert lonely, then I swiftly moved, 
To find the fond Affinity, thou hast long loved ; 
If Grief assailed thee, I was racked with pain ; 
When thou wert merry — then I laughed again! 

To comfort thee, a little Soul was sent from 

Heaven — 
For her humanity, my travail-throes were 

given ; 
Drawing her life from the fair fountains of my 

breast. 
Thy second-self, on my kind knees, did rest ! 



208 THE DYING BODY TO THE SOUL. 

I laid her waxen image out, with many a tear — 
All night I knelt beside the virgin bier — 
I lit blessed candles at her feet, and head — 
My heart was thine, that then, in sorrow bled ! 

We played together, in our childhood sweet — 
When thou wert young, and I had dimpled 

feet; 
Tqgether grew to full maturity ; 
And now together, grey have grown to be ! 

Soon thou in ecstasy will soar away, 
• Like a freed bird, that goes to greet the day ; 
While I lie dumbly in the earth's damp womb- 
Save me — oh ! save me, from the cold, dark 
tomb ! 

How terrible the thought : to be alone — 
When thou, my better-half, to God, art gone; 
My Life — for thee I '11 breathe my last sad 

sigh— 
My Love — to lose thee, is indeed to die ! " 



THE DEPARTING SOUL TO THE BODY. 



\ his is the passing Spirit's plaintive song : 

" We part, my loving mate, but not for long ; 
Thou — 'neath the ox-eyed daisies, sweet to 

sleep ; 
I — thro' all space, with my new wings, to 

sweep ! 



Sfc 



THE DEPARTING SOUL TO THE BODY. 2O9 

Rejoice ! thou wilt be free from earthly ills ; 
While Heaven's high rapture all my essence 

thrills ; 
The birds shall sing a requiem soft, for thee — 
While ransomed souls tune living lyres, for me! 

All parts of thy divine anatomy, 
'Thro' a long life have given pleasures to me ; 
And if, as partner, I had pains to share, 
The fault was mine, that there were pains to 
bear. 

Oft in these brain-cells, I have cunning 

wrought. 
My miracles with Memory ; Reason ; Thought- 
Long have I used these earnest azure eyes, 
True as the stars ; and clear as cloudless skies ; 

Thy urns for incense, shaped like lily-bells — 
Have soothed my inmost being, with sweet 

smells ; 
And oft thy subtle palate, with eager haste. 
Has gratified me, thro' the sense of taste ; 

Pink, involuted, as some small sea-shell — 
Thy ears caught melodies, that I loved well ; 
Thy lips to my loved ones, countless kisses 

have given, 
Held converse sweet; and poured out prayers 

to Heaven ! 

Thy taper-fingers, and thy pink-palmed hands, 
Have been obedient long to my commands ; 
Thy facile feet, like fabled Hermes shod. 
For me have run ; or, danced ; or, pensive 
trod; 



ii^ 



2IO THE DEPARTING SOUL TO THE BODY. 

On thy white bosom, soft as Eider-down — 
Hath slept that Spirit, kindred to mine own ; 
And cradled safely from all hurtful harms, 
My infant Angel, rested in thy arms ! 

Oh ! often I have longed to fly away. 
To quit my little casket, made of clay — 
But now, when dissolution draweth near, 
I feel, my twin, that thou art doubly dear! 

Shrink not from Death — sweetheart, be not 

afraid ; 
Thy Lord, and mine, in the lone tomb was 

laid— 
Good child — behold the floating butterflies : 
Thou art a crysalis — yet, thou sJialt surely rise! 

Sleep well, my own, in consecrated ground — 
Green be the grasses ever, on thy mound ; 
And every year, from Paradise I'll bring, 
Fresh flowers, to grow on thy grave, in Spring ! 

I go — but thou shalt join me singing soon, 
In the glad sunshine of eternal noon : 
My faithful friend, I'll bless — I'll pray for thee, 
Till we are wed in full felicity ! 




THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

ow the rapidly rolling river Rhine, 

In the sunshine sparkles as rosy as wine ; 
And the last warm flood of daylight falls, 
With a ruddy glow, on the castle walls. 

The nuns in the convent are telling their beads ; 
The flowers in the garden are hanging their 

heads ; 
And up on the bastions, the seneschal old 
Is watching the sunset, in crimson and gold. 

But down in the old-fashioned nursery, 
Where the shades of evening come silently — 
Like ghosts, that thro' the open casement 

creep. 
Lies a lonely baby-boy asleep. 

The baron has gone, ere dawn of day. 
To hunt the stag, and bring the boar to bay ; 
And while he rides free, in the forest wild, 
Thinks not of his poor, neglected child. 

The lady Gertrude — his callous step-dame — 
Is a mother to the son, only in name ; 
She has gone to dine with the Duke, to-day, 
While her lord, to the chase, has ridden away. 

But it matters little — for when shjs is here, 
Of the innocent one she takes no care ; 
Walking in the park — joining the merry 

mount — 
Attended always by her cousin, the Count. 

211 



212 THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

The steward is supping in the housekeeper's 

room, 
With the smart lady's maid, and the chief 

chamber-groom ; 
While in the hall, the other servants sit at 

table. 
Cooks; scullions; housemaids; butlers; and 

grooms of the stable. 

But the pretty young nurse, Lizette, will wait 
For an hour, or, more — at the old grey gate — 
Till the dews of night have begun to fall. 
To talk to her soldier-lover tall. 

So, poor little Herman lies fast asleep, 
Upstairs alone, where the dark shadows creep ; 
With no bosom soft, his pillow to make, 
And no kindly hand to hush him, if he wake. 

Alas ! that the good lady Bertha died — 

In her youthful beauty, and womanly pride ; 

With her large blue eyes, and her high white 

brow — 
Would God, she were here to bless him now! 

What slight form passeth at the open door — 
What light step falleth on the oaken floor — 
And straight to the infant finds its way, 
As if the place were well-known by day ? 

' Tis the Spirit-Mother that has come, 
Longing again to see her child — her home; 
The vault where they laid her is strong, and 

deep — 
But at twilight hour she forth can creep ; 



% 



^^ 



THE SPIRIT-MOTHER, 21^ 

For she hears her little one moan and weep, 
And dreams of her darling disturb- her sleep; 
So, past the sentinels viewless she glides, 
And thro' the corridors noiseless she slides ; 

Till she reach the nursery, wrapped in 
gloom — 

Ah ! well she remembers the deserted room — 

Till she clasp her baby to her breast. 

And soothe the weary one to his rest ! 

Now Herman stirs — the cradle slowly swings ; 
He cries — and a sweet voice softly sings ; 
While an angel form, all in robes of white. 
Above him bends, in the fast-fading light ; 

She gazes upon him, with speechless bliss — 
She stoops to give him a tender kiss — 
And thus she guards him till dawn of day, 
Whilethe careless mistress,and maid are away. 

While the rapidly rolling river Rhine, 
In the sunshine sparkles as rosy as wine ; 
And the last warm flood of daylight falls. 
With a ruddy glow, on the castle walls; 

The good lady Bertha again will come, 
To carry her little Herman home — 
To bear her babe thro' the ether dim, 
To the Happy Land, that waits for him ; 

Where Christ each little lost lamb fondly 
shields, 

Safe in His fold, in fair Elysian fields — 
Where pleasures new beguile the sunny hours. 
With guileless sports — or. rest mid fadeless 
flowers! 



<-^*i^' 




=•^5*^-* 



THE QUIET HOUR. 



I love the best the quiet hour. 

When I sit alone, in the gloaming-; 
When Memory, with her magic power. 
Thro' the past goes backward roaming. 

The wild wind down the chimney leaps. 
Then roars and rnmbles up again; 
Weird darkness o'er the landscape creeps. 
And peers in at the window-pane. 

The flickering flames fly up the flue. 
The smoke whirls gaily up in rings ; 
The pot-lids rattle, as if they knew 
To keep time, when the kettle sings. 

The firelight on the tiled hearth falls. 
With a ruddy, and cheerful glow ; 
And on the pallid white-washed walls. 
Fantastic shadows come, and go. 
214 



THE QUIET HOUR. , 21 5 

The garments hanging from their pegs, 
Like flitting ghosts at play, appear ; 
There dance the long-drawn table-legs — 
Here sports the jolly old arm-chair. 

And while, with half-closed eyes I gaze, 
On things lamiliar now to me — 
My mind, with Recollection strays, 
Thro ' the long vistas of Memory, 

Moving mid dim, deserted halls, 
Pale phantom-troops are flitting fast; 
While painted full, on those ghastly walls. 
Glides the panorama of the Past ! 

And, plainest of all that are there portrayed, 
Are the opening scenes of my mortal life — 
The infant first — then the child — the maid — 
The happy mother — the heart-broken wife ! 

Then lastly lag these later, lonely years, 
Of hardships — sickness — toil — and scheming ; 
Of wearing Poverty, and weary cares — 
With little interludes of rest, and dreaming. 

As I watch the long procession wend, 
And view its serried ranks well over — 
I recognise each dear, dead friend — 
Each lost, lamented lover- 
One goeth by with a scornful face, 
And a haughty, hateful mien ; 
And one, with a modest, winsome grace. 
That is smiling, and serene. 



2l6 



THE QUIET HOUR. 



One hath a httle rose-bud mouth. 
With flaxen curls, and eyes of blue , 
The next — a child of the sunny South — 
Dark orbs, and cheeks of olive hue. 

One, in white and gold — ^a lily fair ; 
Then an angel bright with Paradisal dyes ; 
And one, in robes that match her raven hair; 
One, in a grey nun's sober guise. 

One is slender, and of stately height. 
And with grandeur moves slowly along ; 
The next is a little laughing Sprite, 
That goes by with dance, and song. 

And thus they march, the young — the old — 
The simple folk — and the clever — 
The grave — the gay — the kind — the cold — 
As tho' they would pass forever ! 

Still shines the polished brass door-nob. 
In the fickle fire-glow's glances — 
Still sings the kettle on the hob ; 
Still the shadow-company dances ! 

And the silent phantoms go, and come. 
Now slower, and now faster — 
Till I hear his step, returning home. 
And rise to meet the Master 1 



t-^^t^ 





lingraved by 



'/n^ yfyne-' ^iiz^4y?ny 



w 




ON THE FARM. 

[ he old lady lives on the farm alone, 

With her servant-maid, and her hired hands ; 
For the good man is not, and the children 

are gone, 
To seek their fortunes in foreign lands. 

Denis, the first, is a ne'er-do-well, 
That will not long be stationary ; 
Jamie's in Ameriea — a maker of steel ; 
And Jack's in Africa — a missionary; 

Margaret is a governess in France; 
A London merchant married Fannie ; 
Kate is in Milan, learning to dance; . 
A Scottish dominie's wife, is Annie; 

In the country church-yard — a quiet spot — 
Two others there are, sleeping peacefully ; 
And theirs, of the whole, is the happiest lot — 
For they died in innocent infancy. 

The old lady is left alone on the farm — 
(Tho the work is hard, and heavy the tax — ) 
And whether 'tis Winter; or, whether 'tis 

warm. 
She knits the soft wool, and spins the strong 

flax. 

217 



1^ 



218 ON THE FARM. 

She's a smart house-wife yet, at sixty-three, 
And chirps hke a bird, as she flits about ; 
Her home, too, is tidy as farm-house can be. 
And pleasant to look at, both inside and out. 

She's a Christian woman, tho' she is not able. 
To argue Free-Grace — Election — or, Immer- 
sion; 
The large family Bible, that lies on the table. 
Is the Protestant, King James' version. 

No handsome furniture the rooms contain ; 
They cook and eat too, in the little kitchen; 
And all the furnishings are strong and plain — 
For industry is all that they are rich in. 

No gorgeous tapestries adorn the walls ; 
Nor costly canvas works of limner's art ; 
But the full flood of golden daylight falls 
On things more dear to the lone widow's 
heart. 

There are the samplers that her daughters 

wrought, 
With the alphabet — The Lord's Prayer — and 

their names ; 
The pious mottoes, John from Dublin 

brought — ; 
And the few crude crayon sketches, drawn by 

James. 

No silks — nor satins — nor laces rare — 
Her neat, simple wardrobe doth comprise ; 
And the only gems she has to wear. 
Are a pair of bright blue Irish eyes. 



m 



m 



ON THE FARM. 219 

No silver plate, with a proud crest engraved. 
An heir-loom of some gone generation — 
But only her mother's old blue china saved. 
And handled with great veneration. 

Oh! the heart hath its treasures far dearer, 
Than Fashion's gauds; or, gold; or, jewels 

bright ; 
Those small things that we keep, when the 

wearer. 
That we love, is lost to our sight. 

There's a pair of red woolen baby-socks ; 
And a defunct doll, all headless, and spoiled ; 
And a score or, so, of wee faded frocks ; 
And of rimless hats — all well-worn, and soiled. 

There's the first pair of "breeks" that Denis 

wore ; 
And the little shoes that dainty shod. 
Those dear, dimpled feet, that have gone before, 
To walk the New Jerusalem of God. 

There's the garden implements — the chest of 

tools — 
Wondrous machines, and models uncompleted; 
There are box-wagons, with wheels made of 

spools; 
And the benches, where the busy boys were 

seated. 

There's the bats, and balls ; and tops, and 

skates ; 
And whips, and bridles ; and the cast-off knives; 
The ancient atlases ; and books, and slates — 
The silent records of those seven young lives- 



h^ 



^ 



220 



ON THE FARM, 



There's the old man's long mute violin, 

He shall ne'er tune to melody again ; 

And the queer, old-fashioned mandolin, 

That Denis brought, when he came back from 
Spain, 

All these-^and more, the old lady has ; 
But she does not need ^/lem to remember. 
The auM lang syne, that once there was. 
From sunny May, to bleak December. 

And, outside she sees the garden so trim, 
That her lads loved once to keep in order ; 
With the tall sunflowers, and holly-hocks slim, 
And its pretty, precise box-wood border. 

The white rose Annie set beside the door, 
In the Summer-time makes a shady bower ; 
And the clematis, that climbs the front porch 

o'er. 
From infancy was Fannie's favorite flower. 



But Kate liked best the showy Cloth-of-gold, 
And the Giant-of-battles, gay and bright ; 
While Margaret loved the lily most, of old, 
And the Eastern jasmine, that blooms by night. 

'Neath those old apple-trees how oft they have 

sat, 
When the crimson sun was setting slow — 
While thro' the soft air, the leather- winged bat, 
With a clumsy motion, was swinging low ; 

Father bareheaded, in his great arm-chair. 
His rosy face lit by a genial smile ; 
His sun-burned brow well-wrinkled with care, 
But his honest heart all free from guile ; 



(?^ 



ON THE FARM. 221 

With his three fair girls grouped at his knee — 
The joy of his Hfe, and his pride ; 
And his best-beloved, Margaret, pensively 
Seated close to her parent's side; 

While Denis, with the dogs, played near, 
And put them thro' their little tricks — 
John, on the grass, lay dreaming there; 
And Jamie was building a bridge of sticks ; 

And there was Mother, with a smiling facq, 
Thanking God, in her heart, for each treasure ; 
Beholding her children's fresh beauty and 

grace. 
Her dove eyes were sparkling with pleasure. 

But now, when at evening she stands alone, 
And looks out o'er the lawn smooth shaven, 
Whence that happy gathering is gone — 
She sighs, as she looks up to Heaven. 

Down there below, her native village lies — 
She can see the house where she v/as born ; 
And not far off, where the tall steeples rise. 
The church where she was wed one Winter 
morn. 

But she cannot see the church-yard lonely. 
Where her better-half, in hope, was laid to 

rest; 
She lives with him, in recollection only, 

And clasps his form ideal, to her breast. 

As she gazes out across her lawn smooth 

shaven 
When the great, red-blushing god goes down; 
She can behold distinct the distant haven, 
i That shimmers just beyond the little town. 



222 ON THE FARM. 

Like large strong birds, tall ships here come, 
From battling the storms — from fighting the 

seas — 
To find, in this harbor, a snug, safe home, 
Where they may lie at their ease; 

Here they love to anchor trustfully, 
Folding their weary white wings to rest — 
To brood — and it may be, to dream of the sea. 
On the blue bay's broad heaving breast. 

Sometimes, when these sailing sea-birds come. 
From foreign ports, o'er angry waters — 
They bring, with them, joy to the old lady's 

home, 
With long letters from her sons, and daughters ; 

And she thinks, how happy, if only they — 
These letters of love, and of good news — 
Could come again to the shore, each day, 
Like the wandering snowy sea-mews. 

The old lady lives alone on the farm, 

(Tho' the work is hard, and heavy the tax — ) 

And whether 'tis Winter; or, whether 'tis 

warm, 
She knitg the soft wool, and spins the strong 

flax. 

But, for sixty -three years, too hard she works, 
And strives, and saves, to pay the tax ; 
Would God, all children were like the pious 

storks, 
That bear their aged parents on their backs! 



!^ 







IF THOU WERT MINE. 



;f thou wert mine, in hours of joy, 
Thy hand in ecstasy I'd press — 
For Pleasure would have no alloy, 
If thou, wert always by to bless. 
Thou'd weave fresh garlands for my hair; 
And I'd sing lute-songs, love, for thee — 
We'd bid good-bye to dull-eyed Care, 
And sport with fair Felicity ! 

If thou wert mine, in scenes of sorrow, 

I'd soothe thy soul with sympathy's sweet 

balm; 
Thy fierce and restless mind might borrow 
From mine, part of its patient calm. 
I'd bid thee look to God, and hve — 
And kiss thee, when I dared not speak ; 
And all the comfort I knew, I'd, give, 
Altho ' my own sad heart might break ! 

223 



224 IF THOU WERT MINE. 

If thou wert mine, when sickness came, 
(For sickness comes to great, and small — ) 
My love would burn with steadier flame, 
And closest then, I'd cling of all. 
I'd tend thee with such fond devotion, 
That in delirium thou would'st obey my voice; 
I'd heal thy malady with a magic potion, 
And even in pain, thy spirit would rejoice! 

If thou wert mine, when adverse fortune fell, 
Love would not fall off, like the ebbing tide — 
But I would cherish thee, ah ! full as well, 
As on the day, when I became a bride ; 
We would not dread the loss of wealth, 
Nor fear the Fates — those evil, angry powers — 
With faith — affection — and good health — 

Life still would bloom with new perennial 
flowers ! 

If thou wert mine, when Death drew near — 
(For Death all earthly ties doth sever — ) 
He'd but divide two currents here, 
That soon would join, to flow as one, forever; 
I would not weary thee with words and crying. 
But teach thee hopeful to depart — 
As full of faith as Isaac, dying, 
Reposed upon Rebecca's heart! 

If thou wert mine, so well I'd love thee, 
I could not be content to 'dwell 
Happy in Heaven, so far above thee, 
If thou wert doomed to deepest Hell; 
But if I might, I'd wing my rapid flight. 
And cast my lot below, my love, with thee ; 
Self-banished to those realms of rayless night, 
I'd share thy woes thro' all eternity ! 







UNDER SENTENCE OE DEATH. 



-n 




^ ■^ J frrr^^t^l■^, ^ T ^ , 







UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 



PART 1st. 

^^ometime in deep silence the old man sat, 

^( Holding in his horny hand his broad-brim hat ; 

His bare, bald head, with grief and shame bow'd 
down, 

As if his son's great crime, had been his own. 



What were the farmer's thoughts as he sat 
there, 

For the first time breathing thepois on prison- 
air? 

As good a man as e'er the sunshine saw — 

Truthful — and honest — and abiding by the law. 

225 



^ 



226 UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH, 

Was he engaged in secret, fervent prayer, 
For the vile wretch, that trembhng cower'd 

there — 
That God would make his heart all pure within, 
Cancel his crimes, and blot out all his sin? 

Or, when he thought on his young victim dead, 
Did he call down direst curses on his head — 
Aye! did he ask the Lord to swift avenge 
That dreadful deed, and let him see revenge, 

On this new Cain, that slew another Abel — 
The scaffold first — and then the dissecting 

table — 
Or, after execution, the pauper's Potter's 

Field— 
If earth, his relics, in pity yet might shield? 

That living, had the Law of Deity defied — 

Imbuing his hands with blood — the mon- 
strous Fratricide! 

Each hour, now drawing his breath but under 
ban. 

Accursed of God — and all abhorred of Man! 

Ah ! He alone that made the man may know, 
What thoughts then beat within his brain, and 

brow; 
Yet any parent may divine in part, 
Those strong emotions that surged thro' his 

heart; 

For the abject culprit, he came to visit here, 
Was his first-born child, and as his life, was 
dear; 






UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 22/ 

Yet, sons of one sire, and born of one chaste 

womb, 
This elder one had hurled the younger, to the 

tomb ! 

Poor soul ! cut off so suddenly from among the 
living, 

That now there was no change of his ever re- 
trieving 

Those follies, that like tares among the 
wheat — 

Had marred a character, that had been sweet, 

And harmless, while he had yet a godly 

mother, 
And was kept apart from his degraded brother; 
For, like the chameleon, some weak people 

wear 
The hue of whatever color is. most near. 

But alas ! when the faithful mother died, 
Two years ago, come next Christmas-tide — 
Lonely and lost, poor Dick had then left home, 
And joining Jason, soon to grief had come. 

The old man found the power of speech at 

last, 
When o'er his soul the deluge swept, and 

past — 
Tho' palsied still with a great misery. 
And groaning in spirit, he said audibly : 

" Jason, I have come to see you to-day. 
To hear, if anything, what you have to say; 
Tell me what cause had you — or, what excuse ; 
Was it about money — or, was there any abuse ; 



228 UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 

Or, some insult — or, whatever had Dick done; 
Or, were you drunk ; or, was your reason 

gone; 
Or, was this crime, so foul, and so inhuman, 
Done for the sake of some vile, lewd woman ? 

I cannot believe — tho' you were leading him 
along — 

That he had done his pure, young wife that 

wrong; 

But if it be so — ah ! woe was the day. 

That ever he went so far, far astray ! 

Oh ! if you had been contented on the farm 
To till the ground — you had not come to 

harm ; 
But no — you found the country-life 'too tame- 
And what has the city brought you — but 

shame ? 

You were too fine a gentleman for us — 
And your gentility has all ended, thus ! 
Too proud you were, both — to labor honest 

there — 
So Dick is dead — and you, a prisoner here ! " 

But never a word the condemned one said, 
Only lower he drooped his cropped, nerveless 

head ; 
For what could he say, that would even seem 

good. 
As a valid excuse, for murder in cold blood? 

" Your silence answers what I ask to know — 
It was but the Devil bade you strike the blow ! 
You ne'er had broken that law of Love Divine, 
Had you not violated long, the other Nine; 



UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 229 

For Evil grows not in a single night, 
To giant-size, and to Goliath-might — 
But, as the rocks, that by the sea-shore stand, 
Little by little — grain by grain, of sand 1 

With rapid pace you've run the downward 

courses : 
Cards — women — wine — and betting on fast 

horses; 
Till scarcely forty — fit close for such career — 
A murderer, and under sentence of Death, 

here! 

• 

My poor dear Hannah ! It was well she died — 
For Richard was always her pet, and her pride; 
And it would have broken her heart now, to see 
Such an awful disgrace on her family. 

Yes ! Dick was ever her favorite child, 
And she always spoke to him low and mild ; 
She was so anxious to have him married — 
And how her fond hopes have all miscarried ! 

I never could see that marriage did him any 

good — 
(Tho' his poor mother was so confident it 

would — ) 
For wedded, a woman can restrain but in a 

measure, 
A man that is idle, and too fond of pleasure. 

Mary was a tidy, good, domestic wife — 
Yet she seemed to have no influence on his life J 
She could not keep him to the narrow track,. 
And from the allurements of the world, hold 
back! 



230 UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 

But how could she succeed with him, when 
Sue — 

Who loved you dearly, could do naught with 
you ? 

Your sister Sue ! the blossom on the apple- 
tree, 

Is not more fair, and pure, and sweet, than she ! 

Dear child ! for aught I know, she may be now 

a-dying, 
For I left her ill, at home, in wild delirium 

crying: 
' * Let me go, too — I know that I can save 

My brother from the gallows — from the felon's 

grave ' ; 

Good girl ! 'tis better she should pass away, 
Than live to see the light of that dread day ; 
For the doctors say, that are waiting on her, I 

hear. 
That if she gets well, her mind will never be 

clear!" 

"Hush! Father — hush! "thepalHd prisoner 

cried — 
" Would God, that I, instead of Dick, had died I 
I cannot bear to hear you call her name 
In such a place — it is a burning shame !" 

The farmer looked the wretched cell well o'er — 
"You should have thought of that" — he said, 

" before ; 
I tell, you, boy, that the sorrow, and the shame. 
Is in being where you blush to hear your sis- 
ter's name ! 



-4. 



UNDER SENTENXE OF DEATH. 23 I 

She is an angel — and she'd die for you ; 
So young, so gentle, so tender, and true— 
And Jason, if ever you should be forgiven, 
* Twill be /^^r pure prayers, that pardon win of 
Heaven. 

' What is to be, will be,' I've often heard say ; 
But oh ! how hard it seems to me, to-day. 
That both my boys should turn out bad — 
The very thought's enough to drive me mad ! 

I've tried to do my duty by both, God knows ; 
But I never' ruled you harsh, with curses, and 

blows ; 
For I always thought ' twould do more good 

with talk, 
And setting an example, by my own daily 

walk. 

But most I counted on a ^Mother's love, 
To mould the clay — and childish traits im- 
prove, 
Till grown to manhood, ye both might be, 
A source of comfort — of happiness, to me. 

Of happiness? what mockery is the word — 
Where there Avas nothing but the worst dis- 
cord; 
That ever ye were born, I've long been sorry^- 
A constant sorrow, and continual worry ! 



For years I've been ashamed to come to thi 
city, 
;re all 
pity; 



city, 
Wliere all the good women looked at me with 



m 






'^^ 



232 UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 

But where the men, with a cold, scornful frown. 
As they went by, on me — (I thought — )looked 
down. 

For it seemed to me that all the world knew 
The trouble and annoyance, I had with you ; 
And no matter which street, I was walking on, 
I'd meet somebody that knew my son ; 

And if I felt that way, year after year — 
How did I feel to-day, when I was coming 

here'> 
Every one in the crowd I met well knowing 
Who I was, and where, and wherefore, I was 

going ; 

I believe I'd be broken on the rack, much 

rather. 
Than be pointed out as 'Jason Keen's old 

father;' 
And the people whispering: 'Tis a pity, I 

swear — 
For the poor old man to see his son, in there ' ! 

But, oh! my God — how terrible 'twill be 
When all is over, the face of human to see — 
Such a horrible shame, and blot, has never 

been. 
In the world, I know, on the honest name of 

Keen I " 

Thus, the old man lamented, rambling on, 
In a low tone to himself, more than to his son ; 
Till stung to the quick, by some most poignant 

thought, 
He left the place, to frenzy will nigh wrought. 







UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 233 

PART II. 

The day drew near — approached the fatal hoiw; 
The learned counsel had done all in his power ; 
But he, to save the assassin's life, had failed — 
Nor eloquence — nor influence — nor anything 
prevailed. 

The Governor declined to interfere ; 

The Board of Pardons would not hear 

Of such a thing — and flatly refused 

To spare — where mercy would but be abused ; 

For forty years spent in idleness, and crime. 
Make a hoary sinner of a man in his prime ; 
One may descend Avernus with facility — 
But to climb back, he may not so easily! 

So, that wise and righteous Body well knew 
'Twas best he should hang, that his own 

brother slew — 
For a wretch that would kill his own dear 

brother. 
Would not hold sacred the life of any other. 

Twelve good men and true, the die had cast; 
And a just judge, fearing God, his sentence 

had past; 
And no right-minded person could deem it 

strange, 
That no appeal, his punishment condign, could 

change. 

And Justice would never be satisfied. 
Until this monster-murderer had died; 
For the law given Moses, still stands good : 
A Life for a Life — Blood-shed for Blood ! 



Bfs 



234 UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 

Time sped — the awful Death-watch was set ; 
For the last time, the old man his son alone, 

had met; 
Still he came every day to the County-prison, 
Almost as soon as the sun had risen ; 

Like a ghost, to glide down the dim corridor, 
With his head bow'd down, his eyes cast on 

the floor; 
As tho' drawn by some irresistible spell, 
To visit the door of that small, silent cell ; 

Where he would stand awhile, and look. 
While his frame with an ague of agony 

shook — 
And then go away of his own accord. 
Without ever speaking, to a soul, a word. 

The keepers respectful, raised their hats to 

him — 
While their eyes, with kindly sympathy, would 

swim; 
And the old man came to be looked upon, 
As much an inmate there, as his son. 

It was the final, dreadful day-before — 
Ere noon, on the morrow, all would be o'er — 
The frightful gibbet, in the yard, was erected — 
The rope was ready — and nothing was neg- 
lected. 

The old man came, as was his wont each day — 
Looked in on Jason, and silently went away ; 
But, as he was going out, thro ' the iron bars, 

he saw 
That horrible Instrument of Human Law, 



/ Jiiy 






UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. 235 

The Gallows-tree — with its arm long and lean 
That like a spectre, had risen upon the scene — 
And at the vision his feeble blood grew chill — 
(For the sight is enough a strong man to kill !) 

And he fell, in a heap, on the cold stone floor, 
To rise to his feet again, never more — 
And when the warden ran to raise his head, 
He found the good old farmer was dead ! 

All night, near the murderer, absorbed in 

prayer, 
The gray-haired Alan-of-God stayed there — 
A Christian indeed, whose whole life had been 
A gospel light, that all the world had seen ; 

And when the fateful morning, lurid broke. 
To him, the Comforter — the poor penitent 

spoke — 
When for the last time they had prayed and 

sung: 
" Thaiik God! the old man will 7iot see me 

hiiJier!" 



O! Jesu-Dominus — we beg of Thee, 
That died for Sin, on the accursed tree — 
That shipwrecked here, and wildly tempest- ' 

tost — 
No Sinner's Soul may be forever lost! 

Thou alone, oh ! Christ, can cleanse our guilt 

away. 
The only Hope — Thou art the only Way — 
I\Iay every wretch in his last extremit}', 
Lift his dying eyes, dear Lamb of God, to 

Thee ! 




PALLIDA MORS. 



I'Jiilllwas nigh on midnight, in the month of June — 
The air was stagnant, and there was no moon ; 
The katydids not yet had come to sing ; * 
Each song-bird slept, with small head 'neath 

his wing; 
But from the ivied bell-fry, grey and wise. 
Forth flew the hoot-owl, with his great, grave 

eyes ; 
And from the near adjacent orange-grove, 
The mock -bird told the Night, his tale of love ; 
And from the hollow, down below the hill. 
Rose the refrain of the sad whip-poor-will. 
Weary was I — yet vainly I wooed Sleep — 
I watched with the stars, that endless vigils 

keep — 



* The common idea is, tliat they sing. 



2^6 



PALLIDA MORS. 23/ 

Down gazing with eyes, both numberless and 

bright, 
Like gems that gleam thro* the veil of the 

widowed Night. 
The tired attendants to their rest had gone ; 
Save Nox, and the bird, I was there then all 

alone ; 
As I lay close by the open window wide, 
My dreaming dog, on the floor, was at my 

side. 
Soft as the melody the night-wind breathes, 
When slowly moving 'mong the jessamine- 
wreathes — 
Sad as the soughing sounds that oft arise, 
When to the breeze, the pine-tree solemn 

sighs — 
So soft — so sad, there fell upon my ear, 
A long-drawn sigh, that thrilled my soul to 

hear ; 
Thro' the dim distance of the silent room — 
From the dark hall-way, mantled deep in 

gloom — • 
Distinct and clear there fell, as the stroke of a 

crystal bell, 
A sorrowful sigh "Ah ! well — " 
But whose voice, I could not tell. 
I raised my eyes, regarding well the door — 
' Twas open wide, but Nox lay just before ; 
I knew that there could enter nor man, nor 

woman — 
My visitor then must be super-human / 

A mighty Shade fell far across the floor — 
Fell on the dog, that still did dream and snore ; 
Fell on my new book, with its open page — 



238 PALLIDA MORS. 

Fell on the ceiling-, • and on '• Dandy Dick's " 

gilt cage. 
The atmosphere grew chill as graveyard damp ; 
With a blue flame, burned low the little lamp ; 
The flowers were wan, that late were wet with 

dew; 
And all the apartment had a horrid hue ! 
Up from the pillow, quick I lift my head — 
Threw out my arms, and sprang off from the 

bed; 
"Hold! who comes thus unbidden, here?" 

I cried — 
The Shade stood still, and once more softly 

sighed. 
But soon, in tones more tender than a lover's 

lute — 
And sweeter far than sound of silver flute — 
It answering said — no louder than a breath — ! 

" Be not afraid — for it is only Death ! " 
My heart beat muffled, so thick and fast, 
I thought that each breath would be my last ; 
My eyes from the sockets started with fear. 
And every nerve became an ear ; 
The rosy color on my cheeks did fail, 
For even the blood in my veins turned pale ! 
"Avaunt, dread Death ! draw not too near — 
Else thou shalt feel my poignard, I swear ! 
What hast thou, now, to say to me ? 
Speak briefly — and then away with thee ! " 
"A friendly visitor — I mean no harm — 
Do not fly from me, in wild alarm — 
Do not thus tremble, with awe of me — 
I have not come, to-night, for t/iee/ 
By these mild words my mind was reassured — 
And his ghastly company, I more calm, en- 
dured : 






PALLIDA MORS. 239 

But Still my blanched face so coldly sweated, 
That I d;;red not ask my august Guest be 
seated. 

" Oh ! Pallida Mors— 

That man abhors ; 

Methinks I know thy visage well of yore— 

Ah ! Death — how often we have met before! 

I've heard thy sable garments silken flow ; 

Thy shadow oft hath rested on my brow ; 

Thy hand hath even palsied my poor heart,' 

When from my side, my Child was torn apart! 

Aye! Thou hast snatched my Idol from my 
breast ; 

And from my arms taken those that I held 
best ; 

Holding my stately Sire's fair, fragile hand 

Hast led him away to the Silent Land ; 

Next, in despair at loss of her beloved — 

With thee, my Mother, in the long procession, 
moved ; 

Not content to rob me of my Sister — my baby- 
brothers. 

To manhood grown, thou hast claimed all the 

others — 
Till desolate, in a desert-world, I stand, 
Like a tall palm-tree, mid lone leagues of sand! 

" Oh ! Pallida Mors— 
That man abhors ; 

Like the North-wind, bitter blowing 
With an icy breath — 
Thou dost blight the buds just showing 
From their pale 'green sheath. 
Lo ! where the harvest whitens all the field — 
Go there— for there thy sickle thou may'st 
wield ; 



240 PALLIDA MORS. 

Go, cut down the rich, ripe grain that waves — 

Go, gather the full-bearded shocks to their 
graves — 

But let the tender flowerets be. 

That they may reach maturity. 

Go, strike the old oaks, at their rottening roots— 

But spare, I pray thee, the tender sapling- 
shoots ; 

For the useless, and juiceless, and long-dying 
tree, 

Is good enough I trow, for thee ; 

But let the aspiring new-growth live, 

To sweeten the air, and grateful shade to give. 

"Oh! Pallida Mors— 

That man abhors ; 

From what red-yellow, baleful star, 

Dost thou swoop down on the wild wings of 

War? 
Like the vile condor, that from Andes' height, 
Afar off scenteth the smell of the fight ; 
- Swift sweeping across the crimsoned carnage 

plain. 
To gorge thy maw insatiate, with the slain ! 
Hath not the wilderness battles — ^beast with 

beast ? 
Go there — Destruction-Loving Eyes, and 

feast ! 
There — where the lion, by the tiger, is over- 
thrown; 
And the panther,, by the leopard, is oft pulled 

down ; 
Where the wary boa hangs from bough of 

ban-yan tree — 
A monster-death, that waits to glut — like thee ! 



PALLIDA MORS. ^4^ 

"Oh! Pallida Mors— 

That man abhors ; 

From what bad mount's bald eminence, 

Dost drop down with thy besom of Pestilence? 

Beneath the wide swing of the strong broad 

sword, 
Like fruit untimely cast, by mistral, on the 

sward — 
That tens of thousands fall before thy sway- 
Till half of a nation dies in a day ! 
And ah ! when fatal Famine, with visage gaunt, 
Kills men, and women, and infants, with want; 
And when old and young— the evil and the 

good, 
Are perishing hourly by Fire, and by Flood— 
What pleasure, Abominable 1 is it to thee. 
The misery of thy helpless victims to see? 

" Oh ! Pallida Mors— 
That man abhors ; 
I entreat of thee, 
Pray confide to me — 
Why is it, that thus, 
Thou dost take from us, 
What we love the best, 
And leave us the rest; 
Why dost thou always choose. 
The one zue least zvould wish to lose? 
Would Heaven, that, what we least prize, 
Might find favor first, in thy greedy eyes ! 
Come — answer me plainly — (if thou can — ) 
Why dost thou pitiless prey upon Man ? 
Hath mankind ever done .thee any harm. 
That thou shoulds't flssh thy steel in his 
vitals warm ? " 



242 PALLIDA MORS. 

" Dwarfed offspring of the dull, insensate 

Clod- 
Dost know, thou hast asked His reason ' why' 

—of God ? 
I am the servant of the Lord of lords — 
And, but obey my Master's fiat-words : 
Altho' I look down with exceeding pity, 
On the helpless denizens of this great city — 
Yet, if my God should say : 'Azrael slay ! ' 
Not a single soul should live to see the day ; 
And, tho' I do compassionate a fallen world — 
(Aye ! even Lucifer, from Heaven's high ram- 
parts hurled) 
If now, Jehovah bade me His creation smite. 
Nothing that breathes should live to see the 
light ! 

" I am not — (as thou sayest) the Foe of Man ; 
I but alleviate the woes of mortals wan — 
When Hope is dead — when Faith is fled — 
When the heart is broken, and crazed the head ; 
When all is gone, that makes Life worth the 

living, 
I come — the weary Soul from further pains 

relieving. 
I — that come, to bring his sleepless sorrows to 

an end. 
His enemy? Not so — I am Maii s best friend ! 
Those buds that are too fair — too frail, for 

earth, 
I bear back to the fields, that smiled upon 

their birth ; 
And all the beautiful, and gifted young that 

die. 
Are but transported to a brighter sky ; 
Where no rude storms of sorrow come to 

blight, 
Where Genius and Love, live always in the 

light; 



m 



n. 



PALLIDA MORS. 243 

Nor 'Envy — nor Malice — nor Want can mar. 
Their brilliance ever, in that blest star ! 
Ah ! if thou, the lonely one, could only see 
The joys of those departed dearest to thee — 
Then, thou woulds't meet me with warm 

delight, 
And hug me to thy heart to-night ! 
But, the mind of a mortal can not conceive, 
The blissful Paradise, where they now live ; 
For naught of Earth — ^tho' Earth is fair — 
With the Heavenly Home can well compare. 
Now — the cause of Wars — of Plagues — is to 

me, 
As all unknown, as it is unto thee ; 
For the nearest Intelligence to the Throne, 
Knows not — nor the Son ; but God, alone. 
Doubtless some wise, good purpose, from sun 

to sun, 
Like a thread of gold, thro' the dark warp, 

doth run ; 
Yet of His decrees, I am as ignorant as thou ; 
Our duty it is, to obey — to bear — to bow ! 

" But poor blind babe, that crieth in the night, 
For succor — for sympathy — for light ! 
Be patient — ere long thou shalt see, 
That God knows what is best for thee. 
Life is so short — it is not wise to grieve ; 
Man dies — ere he has rightly learned to live ! 
Enjoy the span thou hast — 
For time is flying fast ; 
Work all the good, to-day. 
For thy fellows, that thou may ; 
The flowers now bloom and wave. 
On thy waiting woodland grave — 



244 PALLIDA MORS. 

And the shroud is already made, 

In which thou shalt be laid ; 

Fear nothing — trust -only in the Crucified : 

TJie Deity that for Man' s redemption died !'' 

The Conqueror then ceased, and sadly sighed— 
For he remembered well how Jesus died ! 
Prone at his feet, I now was humbled, kneeling, 
The silent tears down my pale cheeks were 

stealing, 
And while invisible hands o'er my harp went 

straying, 
Unconsciously I sang — for I was softly pray- 



" Father, if I survive this awful night — 
Teach me my duty, and help me to do right ; 
Pardon my follies — oh ! blot out all the Past — 
Have mercy on me — let my best days be, my 

last. 
But, if Thy will be, that I go away, 
With Thy Great Messenger, ere dawn of day — 
Wash me, my Savior — and the stains so scarlet 

now. 
If Thou but touch me, shall be whiter than 

snow! 
Lord ! I commend myself to Thee, 
For time — and for Eternity!" 

When I had done, with pious hands appealing, 
To the tall Shade, I cried, still lowly kneeling: 
" I do implore thee, kindly ' King of Terrors' — 
If it be true, thou lovest Man with all his 

errors — • 

Reveal thyself, to feeble mortal vision. 

As thou dost appearin Heaven's light elysian!" 



PALLIDA MORS. 245 

The flame of the httle lamp flared. fickle up, 
Then fainted, and fell, and died down in the 

cup; 
And I — in the deep darkness was left alone, 
With that mysterious, and shadowy One ! 
Death's luminous looks, ere long, lit up the 

lonely scene — 
Like altar-tapers, burning chaste, serene — 
And near my side — close now at my right 

hand, 
I saw the Minister of the Mightiest, stand ; 
Great as a god — yet as an infant fair — 
With large dark eyes; and long, loose golden 

hair, 
That floated free about him, in robes of blue 

bedight, 
As o'er the azure Summer sky falleth the glad 

sunlight. 
Each feature was beautiful ; and his bold, 

broad brow. 
Rose like a Himalayan cap of sunlit snow. 
His eyes were mirrors clear, 
That reflected, in their beaming, 
Those scenes of Eden dear, 
Of which his soul was dreaming ; 
His eyes were seas of thought, 
With solemn silence smitten — 
Where the destiny of Man was wrought. 
The history of the human race was written ! 
His naked arms were round, and supple-strong, 
Powerful his loins — his legs were large, and 

long ; 
His pearl-pale feet were bare, save they were 

splendid soled 
With brilliant shining sandals, fashioned of 

finest gold. 



rM) 






246 PALLIDA MORS. 

Pure as a lily-flower, his fine, five-petaled 

hand — 
He had no weapon — only a small white ivory 

wand. 
But the blossoms, on his bosom blowing. 
Were not born 'neath leaden sky of ours — 
Their beauty, and their fragrance showing, 
T/iat Death robs Paradise^ too — of flowers! 

I looked upon the Apparition with amaze. 
That all unmoved returned my startled gaze; 
The Night was dumb — the World slept silent 

still ; 
The Seraph stayed, that I might look my fill. 
How long the time, thus passed, I cannot say. 
The spell was broken, by the cock that crowed 

for day — 
In an instant the Vision vanished from sight. 
And the place again grew dark as night. 
As I leaned from the open lattice low. 
Where the breeze of morn had begun to blow, 
I timidly murmured, under my breath, 
"How erroneous are our \dt2is oi Death f 
Death— is an angel of such gentle mien. 
Mankind would love him — could he but be 

seen ; 
Death — is an angel with such tender grace. 
No longer I fly from his embrace ! " 
I felt the sweep of soft wings fan my hair — 
Or, was it only moved by the morning air? 
And sweeter than earthly music accords. 
Breathed o'er my brow these thrilling words : 
" I love thee well — ^bar not, to me. Life's 

portal ; 
Soon I come — with a kiss to make thee, im- 
mortal I " 



<-^5W^ 





^^-^ 



TO FIFINE, MY PET DOG. 



^;^j^ 



'ilky and white — sweet Sybarite ! 

On softest satin cushions reposing ; 

Veiled now is the Hght, of thy large eyes so 

bright, 
For thy long lids are lazily closing ; 
And while I am supposing, that thou art but 

posing 
Thou cunning one! glozing, art pleasantly 

dozing — 
Thou art most deliciously dozing, 
Thy long — lily-eyelids — slow — closing ! 

Say, Sweetheart, hast not-thou a Soul ? 
Surely, I see it shining in thy soft, sad eyes — ^ 
Aye ! Thou shalt live while ages endless roll. 
But, in \\'ha.t fon^is, my thoughts cannot sur- 
mise. 
And, my dumb darling, if thou go before, 
I know that thou wilt faithful watch and wait, 
To see my coming home again, once more, 
Patient beside the pearly gleaming gate ! 

Else, why are these affections given, 

That here below have but their humble birth^ 

If not, that they survive in Heaven, 

The- brief existence they have had on earth? 

Too deep the secret springs of feeling lie, 

Too inexhaustible is their Eternal Source; * 

* For " God is Love." 

247 



248 TO F I FINE, MY PET DOG. 

These living waters, no dread dearth can dry, 
Nor Death's chill fetters bind from headlong 
course ! 

But, Beauty, I have seen these eyes before. 
In some beloved, tender, dead friend's face — 
And I have known this presence, well of yore, 
But yet I cannot tell the time, or, place ! 
Where hast thou got these wistful, woman- 
eyes, 
That speak with joy, and love — with jealousy, 

and pain? 
Where hastthou learned these hopeless human- 
sighs. 
Say, pretty Fifine ! hast tlioti loved in vain ? 

Art thou dear Dora, come from Paradise — 
(We did not know how dear, until sJie died!) 
Like to a tame doe, with demure, dark eyes, 
'■ Following my footsteps — resting by my side? 

Our light hearts had a sunshine of their own. 
Even in storms, and Wintry weather — 
Hope's golden glamour o'er the world was 

thrown 
When we were glad young girls, together ! 

Or, art thou my sweet Cousin, grave Lenore — 
That sleeping, slipped off the leash of Life, one 

day? 
The gentle heiress, worshipped by the pooi*, 
Who counted gained, the gold she gave away ! 
For oft times she hath told me thoughtfully. 
Her face illumed by Love's own holy light — 
" My Guardian Angel is always watching me^ 
To see if I use The Master's riches right!" 



TO FIFINE, MY PET DOG. 249 

Or, handsome Helen, strong-limbed — fleet of 

foot; 
Wise as a woman — guileless as a child ; 
Climbing the mountains, shod with hobnailed 

boot — 
And chewing berries, with the rock-goat wild ? 
Or, quiet Agnes, buried 'mong her books. 
Wearing an air of most profound abstraction ; 
Or, little Lilla, whose coquettish looks. 
Drove her lover-legion to distraction ? 

All these were black-eyed beauties — but, alas! 
All have departed, one by one, removed — 
But mirrored still in Memory's magic glass, 
I see the boon companions that I loved. 
Which one is it, that thou wert once ? 
Speak, dearie, with thy dreamy eyes ! 
Which warm friend, wearing for the nonce. 
This chaste, and charming, small disguise? 

Silky and white — sleek Sybarite ! 

On shining satin cushions soft snoring; 

Lost now is the light, of thine eyes liquid, 

bright — 
For all things terrestrial thou 'rt ignoring. 
With teeth like pointed pearls, in precious 

rows — 
With eyes as black as sloes, and a nice black 

nose — 
Fierce to thy feline foes ; with a horror of 

human blows — 
May some sweet Sprite guard well thy repose, 
While the West Wind a low lullaby soughs — 
While thy lovely — listless — lily-lids — close! 




/ 




XO E. H. M. 



[ow the song-birds of Summer Southward are 

flying, 
And her royal roses are drooping and dying; 
While the lone whip-poor-will his doleful 

dirge prolongs, 
Where late the trees were tremulous with 

merry songs; 
And where, in the wood, with slow, sad steps 

I pass. 
Dead leaves are strewn — a pall, upon the dead, 

dry grass. 

My happy Bird to Heaven hath taken her 

flight, 
I still look after her, with tear-dim'd sight; 
My budding Flower — the fairest earth e'er 

knew. 
At set of sun, closed her soft eyes of blue ; 
And like that mournful singer of the night, 

alone, 
I chant the requiem of joys forever gone I 
250 



W^J 



TO E. H. M. 251 

I, too, ere long, from Winter's blighting blasts 
must fly, 

Away to my sunny Southland shores to hie; 

Where the balmy breeze, from the tepid Gulf 
Stream blows — 

To ope the purple petals of the perfumed rose; 

And where the sighing cypress, and the plain- 
tive pine, 

Make music-moans, that will well accord with 
mine. 

I, the bereaved Mother, prayerful ask it; 
Take care of my Treasure, 171 the little casket! 
Pure Pearl ! safe shut from soiling in her sacred 

shell— 
(The precious pearl, you learned to prize and 

praise so well;) 
Bright Diamond! that doth hide her undim'd 

spark, 
From our dull eyes, in the deep tomb, so 

dark ; 
More perfect Ruby, than was ever known. 
To grace a queen's fair bosom, or, an empress' 
crown ! 

You were her good Physician, and her faithful 

Friend, 
You fought Death, for her,bravely to the bitter 

end; 
All that of kindness— skill— or, science, could 

be done, 
You did to save her— ^z//, behold she's gone! 
I shall remember all your ministrations sweet, 
As long as my miserable mother-heart shall 

beat! 



(7^1 



252 



TO E. H. M. 



I leave my sleeping Infant, Doctor, to your 

care; 
With what solicitude you watched her slumbers 

here ! 
She will not wake, and startle, and cry out, 

again — 
For Christ hath healed her blessed body of 

all pain ; 
And for the first time, she knows now, a real 

repose. 
Since dreamless Sleep, (not Death !) her eyes 

doth close. 

Do not forget the sacred trust, 
Of watching over her dear dust — 
And I implore, remember too, 
There is an Angel watching you ! 
" Little Fingers — " "Pretty Fingers" 
Always beckon from the skies, 
"Little Lady Baby" lingers, 
And leads to Paradise ! 




^A^;*?-* 








ff¥Tf » j t ri^rrtr T 



TO ONE IN AIDEN. 

Eden is nearer home than most men think." 

leloved — from that brighter sphere, 

Which Man and the Angels both call : Heaven, 
Dost thou behold me, struggling here— 
And yearn to help me, morn and even ? 

Can'st thou — a dweller among the blest — 
And, as the snow-drift, perfect pure — 
Know all the sorrow and unrest, 
That sinful mortals must endure ? 

Or, hast thou, in thy happier state, 
Forgotten woe, and want, and evil — 
The fell, malignant blows of Fate — 
The onslaught of the Flesh— the Devil ? 

Or, dost thou bear yet, in eternal peace, 
Some scars of ancient earthly wars — 
Some ugly wounds, that will not wholly cease, 
To pain thee, still— beyond the stars ? 

Oh ! can'st thou mark the lines, that care, 
Hath deeply graven on my brow ? 
And dost thou see each silver hair, 
That glistens 'mong my thin locks, now ? 

253 



^ 



254 TO ONE IN AIDEN. 

Or, seem I yet, as fresh and fair. 
To thy celestial kindly ken — 
As maidens, in the first flower, are. 
To eyes of merely mortal men ? 

Standing knee-deep in amaranthine bowers, 
' Neath princely palm ; or, broad magnolia's 

shade, 
Doth memory fond recall the hours — 
The scenes, of childhood, where we played ? 

Or, wandering lone, thro' some Elysian grove. 
Where swaying boughs breathe symphonies 

divine — 
Dost thou recall, with thrilling rapture, love. 
Some old sweet song of min'e ? 

When from the windows of my carnal prison, 

I view the blooming fields of May — 

The brilliant sun, just newly risen ; 

The gay birds singing; and the lambs at play ; 

The pleasing prospect brings no joy to me. 
Since thoti art absent from the scene — 
Cheerless and drear, each season seems to be. 
Or, Winter's storms — or. Spring time robed 
in green ! 

How changed the world is — ^thou art gone ! 
How empty — thou hast left my side ! 
How aimless life — I am alone — 
E^en Hope departed when my darling died ! 

When evening cometh — ^then I think of thee — 
When gentle zephyr bloweth from the West — 
I catch the sigh, thou send'st me, 
From the odorous Islands of the Blest ! 



TO ONE IN AIDEN. 255 

And, when those orbs of night appear, 
We cannot see by glare of day — 
I wonder, are they lamps, that there, 
The angels hold, to guide our way; 

And, if in truth; this may be so, 

How warm their sympathy, for us, must be — 

And oh ! if I might only know 

Which star is the beacon lit by thee ! 

Come to me, dearest, during the hours of 

sleep — 
Steal down the long ladder of light from the 

stars — 
Bring blessed balms, to bathe these eyes that 

weep — 
And hold my hand behind the dungeon bars ! 

Come, when the weary world hath gone to 

rest — 
Swift sailing on those threads of silver pale — 
Come, clasp me closely to thy tender breast, 
And kiss my spirit thro' her thin veil ! 

Pray faithful for me, thou redeemed One, pray! 
Know this: that bliss in Aiden is incomplete, 
Till dawneth that devout desired da}% 
When thou and I, again shall meet ! 

I dare not trust to prayers that are mine own, 

My best thoughts need to be forgiven — 

I am weary of waiting — oh! wilt thou lean 

down, 
My love, and lift me to Heaven ? 




IS 



IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 



*-^S*^5^5*?-* 



f ong time Aurelius ill at ease reclined, 

As the slow fevers sapped his vital force; 
While oracles were dumb — augurs, in vain, 

divined; 
And the gods indifferent seemed — his malady- 
grew worse. 
He felt that his illustrious career, 
Ran rapidly to its cheerless close ; 
He trembled too — Eternal Night was near, 
Without a star to gild its Stygian woes ! 



He cast his sad gaze on the faithful few. 
That loved him, more than feared him, in the 

past — 
. With lingering looks, for ah ! full well he knew, 
That this communion was to be — the last ! 
And their eyes eloquent, answered him. 
The deep despair, they dared not speak — 
Eyes, with long vigils, and with tear-drops dim, 
That tell of anguish, when the heart doth 

break! 
256 



IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 25/ 

" I am but mortal — die I surely must," 
The Emperor, with piteous accents cried : 
"Aye! soon in darkness and in dust, 
The worms will feed on Cczsar deified I 
Friends ! bear my couch, and by yon casement 

place. 
Where I may view the gentle-dying Day, 
And learn to imitate the smiling grace, 
With which she fades serene, from sight, away. 

" The sun is slowly sinking in the Wqst, 
His last long spears of light up to the zenith 

thrown ; 
The mother-bird now hovers, o'er her nest, 
To warm the callow-brood, neath her soft 

bosom-down ; 
Sweet sings the nightingale, in the citron 

grove. 
His tender breast pierced by some poignant 

thorn — 
Thus, most melodious canticles of Love, 
From passionate pain, and hopeless grief, are 

born ! 

" The tinkling of the shepherd's little bells ; 

The mournful music of the far off sea; 

With human voices — the mighty chorus swells 

And rolls, in diapason, up to me. 

I mark the yellow Tiber, where he sluggish 
flows — 

Like a huge snake, that crawleth slow along ; 

The altar-smoke, this way the West wind 
blows; 

And invocations mingle with earth's anthem- 
song. 






258 IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 

" i see the lofty Forum, in the distant haze — 
Where gifted orators declaimed, when I was 

young ; 
Vice to rebuke — heroic deeds to praise ; . 
Extolling Virtue, with the silver tongue. 
The pillared Porches — (we copied them from 

Greece — ) 
Where sages taught Philosophy, to fools — 
When Janus ' temple-doors were shut, in time 

of peace. 
And wordy war waged ' mong the sects, and 

schools ! 

" There are the sumptuous Baths of Diocle- 
tian; * 

There looms the Pantheon's pallid marble 
dome ; 

And there the woods, where by wise counsels 
Egerian, 

Numa Pompilius learned to govern Rome ! 

' Tis the Gymnasium — by Jupiter! my pulse 
yet beats. 

Lively, to look upon those well-known walls ; 

What Titan efforts — what Herciilean feats — 

What limbs — what leaps — what wrestling; 
and — what falls ! 

" Vast, gloomy pile the Coliseum stands — 

I see the ghostly Gladiators fight 

Across the arena's blood-bedewed, curst sands, 

Even in my dreams, by night ! 

Or, some young captive, lithe, and tall, and 

strong, 
Sustained by loud, exultant cries — 

* M. Aurelius died a century and a half before the time of Diocletian: 

" 'Tis the sunset of life gives iis magical lore. 
And coming events east their shadows before. " 

— Camphell. 



IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 259 

With raging wild beasts, combats fierce and 

long, 
And bleeds — and faints — and groans — and 

dies! 

" Wolf-nurtured were the fathers of rude 

Rome — 
Men of tough sinews, and tireless energies, 

where they, 
That founded a Nation, where they made a 

home; 
The Sacred City was not built in a single day! 
Inured to hardships — from infancy trained to 

arms ; 
To victory — to glory, often they sallied forth- 
Even their women felt not wild alarms, 
When an incursion poured down from the 

North ! 

" Rome! Thou art now the Mistress of the 
world — 

Securely throned upon thy seven hills; 

Invincible thy eagles, where e'er to breeze, 
unfurled — 

Thy name, with trembling awe, the stout bar- 
barian thrills. 

Queen in the West— and Empress in the 
East — 

Earth shall bring tribute, wine; and oil ; and 

corn; 

And slaves ; and gold ; and gems — to deck 

the feast, 
For thee, and for thy millions, yet unborn ! 

"What though thy fleets may dominate the 

seas — 
Thy silken-satraps rule in every land ; 



''^ 






260 IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 

Sapped at its base, by fatal love of ease, 
Not long the fabric of the State, can stand ! 
Take heed, to keep the body politic in robust 

health ; 
The enervating luxuries of the East, depise — 
Once, Nineveh, and Babylon had eminence 

and wealth; 
Now, o'er their ruined sites, the desert bittern 

flies! 

" Ah ! never more, upon the Campus-Martius 

plain, 
Shall I review the veteran legions loved of 

Rome — 
Nor my proud, champing stallions, drive again, 
In the chariot-races, of the Circus-Hippo- 
drome! 
No more, in the porphyry-paved Capitol, 
Where the best Caesar met his tragic fate — 
Shall I hear the solemn reading of the Proto- 
col; 
And the reverend Senators, in argument, 
debate ! 

" Weaker I grow — insensible soon to be, 
Even to my fair Faustina's perfect charms — * 
Kiss me, once more, beloved one, tenderly — 
If I must die — I would die only in f/ij' arms ! 
Say — can'st thou tell me, fond and faithful 

Wife, 
Where goes a mortal's passing breath ? 
Does the Soul live again, a higher life — ■ 
Or, is the end of all things — Death ? 

* His mind wanders in delirinm; lie, here, addresses the Shade of 
Faustina, who was dead. 



IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 26 1 

"Can'st tell me, leech?" and to his chief- 
physician turned; 

"I know much learning, thou hast most 
studious read — 

If my body be dissected, and then to ashes 
burned : 

Would the part of me that thinks, be also, dead? 

He, too, is silent — alas ! in vain, 

The lore of Chaldee ; Hebrew ; Greek ; Sanscrit ; 

If they cannot prove : that Man exists again — 

Worthless is every letter, that the stylus e'er 
has writ ! 

" It was Pythagoras that Fire preferred, 
As the Principle from which all Life derived • 
And he remembered well he seriously 

averred — 
The three-and-twenty forms, in which his 

soul had lived ! 
But, if all Matter be cognate with Mind, 
How can the two, by dissolution sever ? 
The ties that these twin-Beings bind. 
Would link them still, forever! 

" How doth the Spirit become incarnate, in 
the womb ? 

Birth, to begin with, is a mystery most pro- 
found ; 

Where is the Soul, in sleep ? And, in the silent 
tomb. 

Does she watch beside the carcass, under 
ground ? 

When the Flesh is sick, doth the Spirit feel 
the pain, and languish ? 

Is Animate Life, the Soul ? Is intellect, the 
Vital Spark ? 



262 IN ARTICULO MORTIS. 

When Soul and Body part, is there a mutual 

anguish ? 
Is Death a Change — is it Annihilation ? all — 

all is dark/" 

The last beams from Italia's skies had faded — 

The first watch of the solemn night had eome ; 

• And pedestal — and plinth — and frieze, were 

deeply shaded, 
By the black pall that settled down on Rome. 
"Farewell — a long farewell ! " at intervals,. 

sad Caesar sighed — 
His Pagan thoughts to his dark future given ; 
In doubt — in dread, thus august Marcus died— 
No help for him, on earth — nor any hope, in 

Heaven ! 

Inspired Socrates lit the lonely lamp, 

That trimmed and fed, by Plato; " The 

Divine " — 
Through the chill vapors of sepulchral damp, 
To all Eternity, shall shine ! 
But the full light of God streams from Calvary; 
The Christian's faith is grounded on the 

Master's word ; 
And his hopes of a blessed Immortality, 
Are secured by the promises of his risen 

Lord! 

FINIS. 





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